Scalawag, Soldier, and Southern Gentleman
by PrincessAlica
Summary: Rhett's perspective of different moments either directly from Gone With the Wind or alluded to in Gone With the Wind. Chapter 38 had been edited and revised. Currently working on retelling the story scene, don't worry, there is still a whole lot left.
1. Whole World's on Fire

_Author's Note: I do not own any of the characters, all belong to their respective copyright holders. This does borrow heavily from the original as it is a scene from GWTW, but this is Rhett's side of the scene. I know that this is not in the chronological order, and maybe someday I will repost this all in line with the story, but for now, this is the moment that came to me. I will continue with the story from where it sits before this chapter, but my goal is to do Rhett's complete story. I love the premise of RBP, but with the exception of the barbecue scene. I think this is more what we fans were hoping for. SO you could say that RBP is my anti-inspiration. Hope you enjoy!_

Rhett was seated at the Bar in Belle's place when he heard someone screaming his name. He knew he was an absolute fool for remaining, but he couldn't help but think about Scarlett all alone except for Melanie and Prissy and Wade. He knew she was strong, but sometimes even the strongest need some help. He had acted like a complete boor when he had propositioned her to become his mistress. But he wanted her like he had never wanted anyone before. And now here he was in the middle of a siege, because he simply couldn't stand to leave her unprotected. What a fool he was.

He heard it again. A shrill voice screaming for him, so shrill that it set his teeth on edge. Who on earth would be screeching like that? Curiosity got the best of him, and he rose from his seat and headed out the door.

"Ah, Prissy... what can I do for you this fine evening?" He asked politely as he stared at the panicky darky. "Is there some thing that you need?"

"Ah's skeered, Mista Rhett. And Miss Melly she done had her baby. And Miss Scarlett done sent me to find you so you could get us outta here." She rambled out in a frightened voice, her teeth chattering.

"I'm sorry, Prissy. But the Confederate Army already commandeered my horse and buggy to use as an ambulance. So I'm afraid I won't be of much help to you." He said calmly, looking pristine in his white suit.

"But Mista Rhett the Yankees are already here! They's burn'n 'Lantna. De sojers tech off a sto' house down Decatur Street an' it flame up," She shrilled.

A wild fire lept to life in Rhett's eyes. "Come on!" He grabbed Prissy forcing her to join him as he ran towards Five Points. When they arrived, emotion stirred in his face, a fierce determination leading him. "What now? Talk fast!"

"Miss Scahlett, she done tole me to tell you, Cap'n Butler, come quick an' bring yo' hawse an' cah'ige. Miss Melly done had a chile an' Miss Scahlett is bustin' ter get outer town." The glow from the fire giving an eerie red cast to their faces.

"Where does she plan on going, Prissy?" He quizzed.

"Ah doan know, suh, but she is boun' ter go fo' de

Yankees gits hyah an' wants you ter go wid her."

Her fear was grating on him, as he desperately tried to think of what he could do next. But then he laughed. "Well, I'm sorry Prissy, but they already took my horse." He paused as Prissy stared at him, the terror making her rigid. "Tell Miss Scarlett to rest easy. I'll steal her a horse out of the army corral if there is a single one left. I've stolen horses before tonight. Tell her I'll get her a horse even if I get shot doing it." He finished this by laughing and telling Prissy to get home.

As she ran, another explosion rang out, causing her to scream and fall to the ground.

"Prissy," he said with a chuckle. "That isn't anything but the ammunition our gentleman are setting off so that the Yankees don't get it. Go on, Prissy. Hurry up and get back to Miss Scarlett. I'm sure that she wants to hear from you soon."

He watched as she slowly ambled away, no sense of urgency affecting her. Another explosion ripped through the air galvanizing him into action. His eyes gleamed in excitement as the adrenaline poured through his veins. This is what being a man was about. He paused for a moment to consider where he should go, before heading in the direction of the army stables. If there was a horse alive to steal for them, he would. How was he going to do this without killing Melanie? Scarlett would survive. She was a survivor, the whole world would crumble before it could stop her.

He ran nimbly, soundlessly, swiftly unnoticed by anyone. There had to be some kind of animal, some excuse for a form of transportation. Alone in the yard was a rickety, old wagon. It was a pitiful excuse compared to anything he had ever driven before, but he quickly adjusted the wheels so that they might stay on, and pulled it so that it sat ready to hitch a horse too, if there was one.

Inside the barn, two young boys were frantically trying to remove anything that had value. So occupied with their tasks, they paid no attention as Rhett slipped inside. He snuck into the next aisle and heard the sound of heavy breathing. He crept closer, and saw inside the stall a pitiful creature. It's breathing was labored, and it had obviously been given up as too far gone to bother with.

But this was an animal, and there didn't seem to be anything else inside of the building. This might be the only hope.

He carefully opened the stall door and led the animal into the aisle. "Shhh", he cautioned the horse. He could still hear the voices of the frightened boys as they faded away. They were leaving. He was alone.

He hurried towards the door, still leading the emaciated animal. As soon as he got near to the cart he harnessed the animal to the wagon and climbed on the seat.

"Thief!" a voice called from the the building. "Horse thief!" The noise from the fires was added to with the crack of a gun, but Rhett prodded the animal into action and ducked low in the seat, narrowly missing getting shot. He urged the horse on faster, and the horse compelled by the bullets whizzing by him, trotted along faster. Rhett fingered one of the pistols in his pocket, but decided against using it. He might need it more later.

Soon he slowed the horse, knowing that they were too busy fleeing to be able to put on much of a chase. And the animal wouldn't be able to last long at this pace.

And so now finally after everything, finally he was headed to rescue Scarlett on this pathetic, dismal excuse for a horse. And the wagon was so ricketty that it was amazing that the wheels continued to turn, although the axels screamed in protest at every revolution. He could see the faint glow that he knew was Aunt Pittypat's ahead of him. He also knew that he could not hurry this horse. This animal had so little life left in it that he must treat it gently if it had any hope of making a trip out of the burning city.

As he neared the house, he could see her leap to her feet. And then he heard her cry, "Rhett!" relief was evident in her tone. He climbed down from the seat of the wagon and opened the gate, allowing himself entrance. It clicked behind him as he walked up the walk with the springy stride and his head was erect and almost regal. The dangers seemed to be almost intoxicating to him. His dancing eyes hid the glimmers of ruthlessness and ferocity. He seemed more alive than ever, as if this entire situation was no more than a game to him.

She swayed as he neared her. He bowed and swept his hat across his body in a graceful gesture. "Good evening," he said, in his drawling voice. "Fine weather we're having. I hear you're going to take a trip."

"If you make any jokes, I shall never speak to you again," her voice quivered as she spoke.

A mocking surprise flitted across his face, "Don't tell me you are frightened!" He grinned, hoping to drive her crazy with his calm.

"Yes, I am! I'm frightened to death and if you had the sense God gave a goat, you'd be frightened too. But we haven't got time to talk. We must get out of here." There was panic in her eyes. She seemed to be nothing but a small frightened child, desperately hoping for someone to cling to.

"At your service, Madam. But just where were you figuring on going? I made the trip out here for curiosity, just to see where you were intending to go. You can't go north or east or south or west. The Yankees are all around. There's just one road out of town which the Yankees haven't got yet and the army is retreating by that road. And that road won't be open long. General Steve Lee's cavalry is fighting a rear-guard action at Rough and Ready to hold it open long enough for the army to get away. If you follow the army down the McDonough road, they'll take the horse away from you and, while it's not much of a horse, I did go to a lot of trouble stealing it. Just where are you going?"

"I'm going home," she said definatly, as if there were no question as to her destination.

"Home? You mean to Tara?" He asked incredulously.

"Yes, yes! To Tara! Oh, Rhett, we must hurry!" She pleaded.

"Tara? God Almighty, Scarlett! Don't you know they fought all day at Jonesboro? Fought for ten miles up and down the road from Rough and Ready even into the streets of Jonesboro? The Yankees may be all over Tara by now, all over the County. Nobody knows where they are but they're in that neighborhood. You can't go home! You can't go right through the Yankee army!" Disbelief shadowed his words, amazed that she would even consider going to Tara. She would very well be walking into the lions' mouth.

"I will go home!" she cried plaintively. "I will! I will!"

"You little fool," and his voice was swift and rough. "You can't go that way. Even if you didn't run into the Yankees, the woods are full of stragglers and deserters from both armies. And lots of our troops are still retreating from Jonesboro. They'd take the horse away from you as quickly as the Yankees would. Your only chance is to follow the troops down the McDonough road and pray that they won't see you in the dark. You can't go to Tara. Even if you got there, you'd probably find it burned down. I won't let you go home. It's insanity." He tried to use the sharp words to shock some sense into her. He desperately wanted to keep her from her fools errand. She would be heading into her own execution.

"I will go home! I will go home! You can't stop me! I will go home! I want my mother! I'll kill you if you try to stop me! I will go home!"

He stood silently as tears of fright and hysteria streamed down her face as she finally gave way under the long strain. He made no move to stop her as she beat on his chest with her fists and screamed again: "I will! I will! If I have to walk

every step of the way!" He couldn't stand the site of her in such agony. She was terrified. He never would have believed that she would come to a breaking point like this, until he had seen it with his own eyes.

Swiftly he gathered her in to his arms. Her hands stilled as she was engulfed into his embrace. Her hot tears found their way through the starched material of his shirt. Her hair tumbled across his hands as he caressed her hair with a soothing touch. His voice was unlike any tone that he had ever used with her before. It was gentle and soft. "There, there, darling," he said without any hint of mockery. "Don't cry. You shall go home, my brave little girl. You shall go home. Don't cry." That moment changed him. She was in his arms, and so very terrified. And he felt nothing other than the need to comfort her and protect her. In this moment she needed him like she had never needed anything. A surge of love momentarily over-whelmed him. She was not completely the spitfire that he had loved. And he longed to hide her vulnerability from the world. He longed to do nothing but hold her, as his lips brushed against her hair.

Finally, knowing that they only had so much time, he fumbled in his pocket and produced a handkerchief and gently wiped the tears from her face.

Finding a faint twinge of humor, he treated her as a small child. "Now, blow your nose like a good child," he ordered, a glint of a smile in his eyes, "and tell me what to do. We must work fast." She did as he asked, but her lips were quivering. She seemed completely helpless.

"Mrs. Wilkes has had her child? It will be dangerous to move her--dangerous to drive her twenty-five miles in that rickety wagon. We'd better leave her with Mrs. Meade." She shook her head at his words.

"The Meades aren't home. I can't leave her." The tears still glinting in her eyes.

"Very well. Into the wagon she goes. Where is that simple-minded little wench?" he questioned.

"Upstairs packing the trunk."

He raised one eyebrow in amazement. "Trunk? You can't take any trunk in that wagon. It's almost too small to hold all of you and the wheels are ready to come off with no encouragement. Call her and tell her to get the smallest feather bed in the house and put it in the wagon."

Still she stood unmoving—petrified by the events of the night. He pulled her tightly into his arms, lacking the gentleness of the prior embrace. It held passion and fire and vitality. He tried to prod her into the hallway, but she still stood staring at him. "Can this be the heroic young woman who assured me she feared neither God nor man?" He mocked her in hopes of rousing her fight and then he laughed and released her. In turn she glared at him, passionate hatred flaming into her eyes.

"I'm not afraid," she said.

"Yes, you are. In another moment you'll be in a swoon and I have no smelling salts about me."

She stamped her foot and then picked up the lamp and started up the stairs, not realizing that his actions had been to galvanize her. He came up the stairs following closely at her heels, laughing softly at the passion he had awakened in her. Rhett waited outside of the door as she ordered Prissy and Wade about. Then he followed her as she turned to Melanie's door.

Rhett was shocked by the serenity he witnessed in Melanie's eyes as he came into the room. She tried to smile, but she had not even the strength for that. She was as pale as death, her eyes sunken and rimmed with black shadows.

Scarlett immediately launched into an explanation. "We are going home, to Tara,The

Yankees are coming. Rhett is going to take us. It's the only way, Melly."

Scarlett picked up the small baby and wrapped him hastily in a

thick towel at Melanie's nod. Rhett stepped to the bed and tcuked the sheet around her. "I'll try not to hurt you. See if you can put your arms around my neck."

Melanie was too weak. She had no strength even for that. And so he bent, slipping an arm under her shoulders and another across her knees and lifted her

gently. Her body tensed in pain as he lifted her slight weight, but she made no sound. Scarlett started towards the door ahead of Rhett, holding the lamp high so he could see. Melanie made a feeble gesture toward the wall.

"What is it?" Rhett asked gently, even as he worried about how very light she felt in his arms. He body was no larger than a child's.

"Please," she whispered, he hand lifted feebly as if to point at something still in the room. "Charles."

He looked at her in confusion and then on to Scarlett who seemed irritated at the request. "Please," she voice was whisper soft as she pleaded with all of her strength, "the sword."

Scarlett grudgingly acquiesced. "Oh, all right." She head back up the stairs to retrieve the items after Rhett had already taken Melanie down the stairs.

Rhett took Melanie to the wagon and laid her down as gently as he could next to the frightened Wade, but he could not miss the grimace that stole across her features. But there was nothing else that he could do. So he stood next to the wagon and waited while Scarlett and Prissy exited the house.

"Not much of an animal, is it?" grinned Rhett. "Looks like he'll

die in the shafts. But he's the best I could do. Some day I'll

tell you with embellishments just where and how I stole him and how

narrowly I missed getting shot. Nothing but my devotion to you

would make me, at this stage of my career, turn horse thief--and

thief of such a horse. Let me help you in."

He carefully picked Scarlett up bodily and swung her onto it. And then with everyone else securely positioned in the rickety wagon, he climbed up as well and picked up the reins.

Then to his amusement she cried,"Oh, wait! I forgot to lock the front door." He couldn't help but laugh at her naivety. "What are you laughing at?" she asked with a scowl painting her face.

"At you--locking the Yankees out," he bellowed as they slowly pulled away from the house and began their painfully slow progress down the street.

The air was ripe with explosions, as they traversed one deserted street after another. Melanie moaned with each hard jounce of the wagon, the deeply rutted streets making their progress even slower.

Rhett calmly noted "That must be the last of the ammunition trains," when another explosion shook the ground and launched into the air. "Why didn't they get them out this morning, the fools! There was plenty of time. Well, too bad for us. I thought by circling around the center of town, we might avoid the fire and

that drunken mob on Decatur Street and get through to the southwest part of town without any danger. But we've got to cross Marietta Street somewhere and that explosion was near Marietta Street or I miss my guess."

Scarlett quavered, as she stared into the distance, "Must--must we go through the fire?"

"Not if we hurry," said Rhett. He leapt from the wagon agilely and ventured into the yard of another darkened home. He found a young tree and snapped a branch off to use to hurry the pathetic creature onward. He showed no mercy to the poor animal as he laid it across the horses back. The wagon swayed erratically as the animal shambled into a quicker pace. Its labored breathing made Rhett question whether or not, it would even survive to get out of town. All in the back of the wagon cried out as they were thrown around the back of the wagon save Melanie, who made not a sound.

The flames appeared brighter and more garish as they dance across the sky, as fewer and fewer trees stood sentinel to break the line of sight. The entire town took on a strange cast as if it were the end of the world. For a moment it seemed as if the whole world were on fire.

It was blisteringly hot, and yet still Scarlett's teeth chattered as she shivered from icy fear that clutched at her. He could feel her trembles, as she leaned closer to him. She was almost enough to distract him. He knew she was more scared than probably had ever been in her entire life, he could feel her shivering. But the fear only sent more adrenaline rushing into his veins. His eyes glowed with light and pleasure at the challenges ahead. He stared straight ahead, as if welcoming the approaching inferno.

"Here," He offered her one of his pistols. "If anyone, black or white, comes up on your side of the wagon and tries to lay hand on the horse, shoot him and we'll ask questions later. But for God's sake, don't shoot the nag in your excitement."

"I--I have a pistol," she whispered, clutching the weapon in her lap, fear etched in her face and pulsing through her veins.

"You have? Where did you get it?"

"It's Charles'."

"Charles?"

"Yes, Charles--my husband."

"Did you ever really have a husband, my dear?" he whispered and laughed softly. For a moment wishing that he had been her husband, that he could hold her as only a husband was allowed.

"How do you suppose I got my boy?" she cried fiercely.

"Oh, there are other ways than husbands--" He offered, knowing that it would push her farther, and that he would be more focused on her anger than she was focused on her fear.

"Will you hush and hurry?" She replied angrily, the approaching fire, mirrored in her eyes.

Seeing soldiers approaching, he drew rein abruptly, in the shadow of a warehouse not yet touched by the flames, hoping to remain undetected by the passing men.

"Hurry!" She cried frantically.

"Soldiers," he said, offering an explanation of his pause in movement.

He watched as the detachment came down Marietta Street, the burning building towering over them on both sides, crashing and burning, choking smoke curling about them, yet they did not flinch. They walked slowly with no thought to regimented marching, too weary to do anything but shamble on with their heads bowed and rifles slung in every direction. Their clothes were threadbare and ragged. There was nothing to distinguish these men from any other defeated men in the history of the world. Only the occasional hat sported a "C.S.A" pin, otherwise they could have been the Yankee army. But they were too bedraggled to be the winning army. Few even possessed shoes, and many were bandaged with wounds yet unhealed from prior battles. They went past, like the ghosts of a civilization gone by. The only sound was the steady tramp of their feet as they passed by. They were too weary to notice the horse and wagon in the shadow of the warhouse.

"Take a good look at them," Rhett instructed, a feeling stirring in his chest as he watched them continue on, even knowing that they were defeated. "so you can tell your grandchildren you saw the rear guard of the Glorious Cause in retreat."

Her eyes burned with hatred for him, along with the smoke and the heat. And as they watched, a small figure, too young yet to have a beard stopped in the middle of the road. He looked like a child, his face so dulled by fatigue that it looked like he was sleep walking. He stared at the retreated army in front of him for a moment before his knees buckled slowly and he went down in the dust.

Silently, two men fell out of the last rank and walked back to him. One silently handed his own rifle and that of the boy to the other. Then stooped and jerked the boy to his shoulders with an ease that looked like sleight of hand. Then he followed the retreating column as the boy cried "Put me down, damn you! Put me down! I can walk!" The man said nothing, but continued on out of sight around the

bend of the road.

He knew then that he should be one of them. He was a Southerner. He hated himself for this realization. He hated that he felt this compulsion to leave Scarlett. But he suddenly knew what they were fighting for, and watching as they disappeared her felt the stirring of Patriotic pride, wishing that he too were fighting. It was a lost cause. There was no doubt as to that, but he couldn't help but think as he watched that he should be with them. He was a coward. He had hidden behind the notion that it was a lost cause before it started, that only a fool would be fighting. But now he was the fool, nothing but a foolish dandy.

Then, there was a crash of falling timbers near by and Scarlett saw a thin tongue of flame lick up over the roof of the warehouse in whose sheltering shadow they sat. Scarlett and Prissy and the children all began coughing and sneezing, and his eyes burned.

"Oh, name of God, Rhett! Are you crazy? Hurry! Hurry!"

It took her words to send him back into action- to wake him from his thoughts. And he used the the tree limb on the horse's back with a cruel force that made the animal leap forward. With all the speed the horse could summon, they jolted and bounced across Marietta Street. He gazed in front of them where the burning buildings created a fiery tunnel of the short narrow street that they were following down to the train tracks. But he plunged ahead, knowing that the only way to safety was to go through the fire. The fire roared around them, cracking and crashing so loudly that no other sounds existed. The heat caused sweat to pour out, scorching their skin with its brightness and heat. For what seemed like an eternity, it seemed, they were engulfed in the flaming sun, as if they were inside the fire, instead of surrounded by it. But then the fire was behind them and semi-darkness was hard to see through.

He wasn't thinking about the fire, or anything else, but the retreating line in front of them. He should be with them, the thought rang again in his mind. He drove the animal mercilessly, crashing the whip down, showing no mercy. He could not concentrate on the present, not even the feel of Scarlett's body so close to him. His broad shoulders were hunched forward and his chin jutted out as he pondered what he would do, what he had to do. Sweat streamed down his forehead and cheeks but he did not wipe it off, too preoccupied to even be aware of it.

He carefully navigated the narrow streets as the roaring of the flames died behind them. He did not speak, his only actions seemed to be beating the horse with regularity. The red glow in the sky was fading now and the road became so dark, but still he did not speak. Still he dwelt on the backs of the army as they walked on.

Scarlett leaned into him and this whispered as she clasped his arm,

"Oh, Rhett, What would we ever have done without you? I'm so glad you aren't in the army!"

This had been the thought on his mind, and he turned to her wondering if somehow those thoughts had escaped. Did she know what he was considering? But the look on her face showed that she was grateful that he was a coward. His expression turned to a grimace as he glowered at her, feeling as if she had insulted him. The first insult that she had spoken that he felt. She dropped his arm and shrunk back from him, There was no mockery in his eyes now. They were naked and there was anger and something like bewilderment in them. His lip curled down and he turned his head away. For a long time they jounced along in a silence unbroken except for the

faint wails of the baby and sniffles from Prissy. When she was able to bear the sniffling noise no longer, Scarlett turned and pinched her viciously, causing Prissy to scream in good earnest before she relapsed into frightened silence.

Finally Rhett turned the horse at right angles and after a while they were on a wider, smoother road. The dim shapes of houses grew farther and farther apart and unbroken woods loomed wall-like on either side.

"We're out of town now," said Rhett briefly, drawing rein, "and on the main road to Rough and Ready."

"Hurry. Don't stop!"

"Let the animal breathe a bit." Then turning to her, he asked slowly: "Scarlett, are you still determined to do this crazy thing?"

"Do what?"

He looked at her, the amazement showing clearly. "Do you still want to try to get through to Tara? It's suicidal. Steve Lee's cavalry and the Yankee Army are between you and Tara."

Oh, Dear God! Was she seriously going to continue on this suicidal mission? Was she that determined?

"Oh, yes! Yes! Please, Rhett, let's hurry. The horse isn't tired."

"Just a minute. You can't go down to Jonesboro on this road. You can't follow the train tracks. They've been fighting up and down there all day from Rough and Ready on south. Do you know any other roads, small wagon roads or lanes that don't go through Rough and Ready or Jonesboro?" He hated the thought of her in this darkness? How was she going to make it? But it was Scarlett, and who could stop Scarlett from getting her way. She was possibly the most stubborn woman in the history of the world. For a moment he imagined a scenario where she chewed out the Yankee army for crossing her path. It made him want to smile, but then he remembered the dangers that she would be face, and it sobered him.

"Oh, yes," cried Scarlett. "If we can just get near to Rough and Ready, I know a wagon trace that winds off from the main Jonesboro road and wanders around for miles. Pa and I used to ride it. It comes out right near the MacIntosh place and that's only a mile from Tara."

A slight relief relaxed him for a brief instant, before he remembered what he was going to do. She would be on her own. "Good. Maybe you can get past Rough and Ready all right. General Steve Lee was there during the afternoon covering the retreat. Maybe the Yankees aren't there yet. Maybe you can get through there, if Steve Lee's men don't pick up your horse."

"I can get through?" She looked at him through her lashes, fear and confusion over powering every other emotion in her eyes.

"Yes, YOU." His voice was rough. He had to do this. He was a fool and a cad for it, but he had to do this.

"But Rhett-- You-- Aren't going to take us?"

"No. I'm leaving you here."

She looked around wildly, as if she hope that he hadn't said what he had.

She was amazing. Just looking her, he couldn't help but grin. God help the man or army that tried to get in her way.

"Leaving us? Where--where are you going?"

"I am going, dear girl, with the army." He said without any hint of mockery.

She sighed. "Oh, I could choke you for scaring me so! Let's get on."

She wasn't going to make it that easy, she thought he was joking. He wished that he were. He wished that he didn't feel this compulsion to join the shambling throngs of soldiers. "I'm not joking, my dear. And I am hurt, Scarlett, that you do not take my gallant sacrifice with better spirit. Where is your patriotism, your love for Our Glorious Cause? Now is your chance to tell me to return with my shield or on it. But, talk fast, for I want time to make a brave speech before departing for the wars."

"Rhett, you are joking!" Her eyes were alight with terror and she seemed to be unable to catch her breath. She grabbed his arm and he felt her tears of fright splash down his arm. He raised her hand and kissed it arily.

"Selfish to the end, aren't you, my dear? Thinking only of your own precious hide and not of the gallant Confederacy. Think how our troops will be heartened by my eleventh-hour appearance." There was a malicious tenderness in his voice.

"Oh, Rhett," she wailed, "how can you do this to me? Why are you leaving me?" For a moment he couldn't remember why he was doing this. But then the feelings returned.

"Why?" he laughed jauntily. "Because, perhaps, of the betraying sentimentality that lurks in all of us Southerners. Perhaps-- perhaps because I am ashamed. Who knows?"

"Ashamed? You should die of shame. To desert us here, alone,

helpless—" she cried, her face smudged with soot and dirt, except where her tears had cleared a path.

"Dear Scarlett! You aren't helpless. Anyone as selfish and determined as you are is never helpless. God help the Yankees if they should get you." He offered her the truth because she had to know just hos strong she really was.

He stepped abruptly down from the wagon, and he came around to her side of the wagon. "Get out," he ordered.

She didn't move. She only stared at him. So he reached up roughly, caught her under the arms and swung her to the ground beside him. He dragged her several paces away from the wagon. The darkness wrapped around them, capturing for the moment in a dream-like state. Insulating them from the rest of the world, even if just for that moment.

"I'm not asking you to understand or forgive. I don't give a damn whether you do either, for I shall never understand or forgive myself for this idiocy. I am annoyed at myself to find that so much quixoticism still lingers in me. But our fair Southland needs every man. Didn't our brave Governor Brown say just that? Not matter. I'm off to the wars." He laughed suddenly, a ringing, free laugh that startled the echoes in the dark woods.

"'I could not love thee, Dear, so much, loved I not Honour more.' That's a pat speech, isn't it? Certainly better than anything I can think up myself, at the present moment. For I do love you, Scarlett, in spite of what I said that night on the porch last month."

His drawl was caressing and his hands slid up her bare arms, warm strong hands. "I love you, Scarlett, because we are so much alike, renegades, both of us, dear, and selfish rascals. Neither of us cares a rap if the whole world goes to pot, so long as we are safe and comfortable."

He continued in a stirring speech, knowing that the words were not registering with her. And so he stopped. He stopped and he wrapped his arms around her waist and shoulders, pulling her body tightly against his. He could feel her body molding into his. He could feel her breasts pushing against the buttons of his shirt. He wanted to take her right their. Considering all that they had gone through she had no right to be so completely alluring. And felt it to... he could feel it as she went limp in his arms, warm, weak, and helpless in his arms. It took all of his self control to not do anything right there. But still he had to at least say something. He might be going to his and death and here she was in his arms, so pliant and warm and tempting.

"You don't want to change your mind about what I said last month?There's nothing like danger and death to give an added fillip. Be patriotic, Scarlett. Think how you would be sending a soldier to his death with beautiful memories."

His head bent and he began kissing, kissing her with slow, hot lips that were so leisurely as though he had the whole night before him. No one he had ever kissed made him feel like this, and he had kissed many woman. But something about her was different. He bent her body backward and his lips traveled down her throat to where the cameo fastened her basque.

"Sweet," he whispered. "Sweet." God she felt amazing. He would hold on to this as long as he had to. Kissing her was better than any dessert he had ever eaten. Her mouth was sweeter than honey, her skin more fantastic than chocolate.

For a moment the darkness was broken, by a pitiful crying voice. "Muvver! Wade fwightened!"

"Oh, you cad!" she cried. "You low-down, cowardly, nasty, stinking thing!" And

because she could not think of anything crushing enough, she drew back her arm and slapped him across the mouth with all the force she had left. He took a step backward, his hand going to his face.

"Ah," he said quietly and for a moment they stood facing each other in the darkness. He had been wrong, he shouldn't have done that, but he had never experienced feelings like that before. God, how he wanted to stay with her forever.

"They were right! Everybody was right! You aren't a gentleman!" She cried, the spell of the dark night, completely broken.

"My dear girl," he said, "how inadequate." Laughing, he remembered other words that had been used against him, and hers paled in comparison.

"Go on! Go on now! I want you to hurry. I don't want to ever see you again. I hope a cannon ball lands right on you. I hope it blows you to a million pieces. I--" Her eyes were frantic with anger and fear and pain.

"Never mind the rest. I follow your general idea. When I'm dead on the altar of my country, I hope your conscience hurts you." He smiled at her, chuckling softly as he turned and went back to the wagon. "Mrs. Wilkes?"

Melanie did not answer. Prissy high, frightened voice answered. "Gawdlmighty, Cap'n Butler! Miss Melly done fainted away back yonder."

"She's not dead?" He knew that she might not survive this trip, but for all of their sakes he hoped that she did. "Is she breathing?" He quizzed.

"Yassuh, she breathin'." Prissy checked and answered quickly.

"Then she's probably better off as she is. If she were conscious, I doubt if she could live through all the pain. Take good care of her, Prissy. Here's a shinplaster for you. Try not to be a bigger fool than you are."

Prissy took the money with a quick nod of her head. "Yassuh. Thankee suh."

"Good-by, Scarlett." He spoke softly, and his words contained an emotion that she was sure wasn't real. If he loved her... if his words had been true than how could he leave her here? Couldn't he at least take her home and then go or better yet not go.

She didn't speak, didn't even turn to watch his leave. And so he turned and walked away, knowing that he was an absolute fool. Knowing that he might have lost her for good. And maybe in this war he could find a way to forget her.


	2. Leaving Atlanta

He trudged down the road away from her with the memory of her soft lips on his seared into his brain

He trudged down the road away from her with the memory of her soft lips on his seared into his brain. He was a fool and knew it and fully understood it. He should never have kissed her but he should never have left her. It mattered little that he knew the confederates were on the last leg of fighting the war that they had had no chance of winning. But something unspeakable compelled him to follow these weary scarecrows and fight for the cause.

It took all of his will not to turn and stare at Scarlett proud and erect in that dismal excuse for a wagon. But even his love for her could not make him turn around. He was going to be a soldier, now that the odds were so unfavorable. Now this was the kind of fighting that he thrived. A victory could never truly be a victory if the fight were even. Victories were so much sweeter when they were won by the underdog.

He was a fool. He glanced down at his clothing, the fine white linen and gray silk with the pockets bulging and the two ivory-handled, long-barreled dueling pistols at his sides. And here he was going to war dressed like a dandy, when those surrounding him were grateful to have a hat of they had one or to have shoes if they had them. But it didn't matter, he was here to fight and wipe Scarlett O'Hara from his mind forever. He just didn't know how he would accomplish that task.

The sky was glowing red where the fires were still burning near the depot. But he knew it was the end perhaps that was what was compelling him to do this fool's errand. For a moment again he longed to turn back and take comfort in the fact that he was protecting Scarlett. She drew him to her and she didn't even seem to be aware of the effect she had on him, although she was certainly aware of the effect she had on everyone else.

Somehow, she seemed to think that he had escaped her charms, that possibly he was immune. She didn't understand that his sarcastic barbs and insults were to protect him from her. For if she ever knew how he really felt then he would never be free, not that he really thought he ever would regardless.

And so he trudged along with the army, the fire had disappeared from his eyes. But when he fought, he fought like a man possessed. For he was possessed, possessed by his love for her. And he never went long without thinking of her, the feel of her heart beating furiously next to his. He remembered holding her limply in his arms as he kissed her with all of the passion that he had hidden during the course of their acquaintance. Somehow his decision to join the army released his tongue and broke down his façade of indifference and friendship.

When he fought was the only moments that his mind was not clouded with thoughts of her. And so he fought gratefully and whole heartedly. For the fighting was respite from the battle being fought against his mind and his emotions. And slowly they made their way north towards Virginia. Rhett was now a precious commodity; he had trained at West Point. He was needed. And feeling needed gave him strength, and he everything a soldier should be. His companions sometimes joked that if he had begun the war with them, the South might have already won. And he would look at their worn tired faces and smile with his perfect white teeth gleaming in the dark.

And he knew that he would never be free of her. She was in his blood now. Her poison had touched him, and he would always long for her lips like an alcoholic longs of alcohol, and he knew that he would see her again.


	3. Bonnie's Birth

His large hand carefully held the tiny one in his palm. Each finger was perfectly formed, and so delicate. He had never felt love quite like this before. It swelled in waves over him. She was Scarlett, but in miniature. Except, unlike her mother, she had the most amazing blue eyes that he could get lost in.

She was strong. There was no denying that. Her small hand would encircle on of his fingers with such a strength and power that it was shocking. Ella's grip had not been nearly so strong.

Looking at her face made his heart constrict. He had never felt such a pure unselfish love before. He loved Scarlett, God he loved her. But this love was different. There were no strings attached to this love.

She stared up at him, her eyes struggling to focus on the face that held her into the hours of the night. And she seemed content in his strong arms. And Rhett wished that someone else would find contentment in his arms as well.

She was amazing and perfect in everyway. She looked as perfect as a baby doll in a store window. She had lips that resembled rosebuds. She had dark thick lashes, and a tiny button nose that was slightly upturned. Her skin was amazingly clear for an infant, and it was as pale as fresh cream.

It was an amazing to be this happy, this absolutely content. He had his perfect child in his arms, and he was married to the woman that he loved. He had all that he wanted but never knew that he wanted. His smile broadened as he sat rocking the tiny bundle in his arms.

What an amazing day! What an amazing feeling.


	4. That Night

**Author's Note: This gets into a lot of use of Margaret Mitchell's words, as this is a scene from Gone With the Wind, only this is told through Rhett's eyes. I tried to stay as faithful to the original scene as possible, I only wanted to add Rhett's thought.**

He sat in the dark surrounded by empty glasses nursing another glass of whiskey with only the dimmest light provided by the flickering candle on the table, the shadows it cast making a monstrous dance around the room. At times it looked like a grotesque reenactment of a nightmare long since buried. He was dishelveled. He had long since thrown off his coat and loosened his cravat. His shirt was half open, and he stared moodily at the glass with narrowed bloodshot eyes before downing it quickly and refilling the glass from the decanter. He didn't bother to replace the stopper. He had no intention of sopping until the dulling liquid had been drained. By now he had lost count, numbers no longer existed. But the number had been great when last he remembered that there had been a number at all. It all swirled into an all encompassing darkness that paralleled his mood. He had been betrayed. He had known the stakes when he fell in love with her, but it hadn't prevented his fall.

And now he was falling into a darker place, where light no longer existed. It churned like the ocean in a storm without the moon's light to shine. It swallowed him wholly.

His eyes blurred momentarily as he stared out into the hallway listening for the slightest noise that would indicate that Scarlett had descended from the sanctuary for her nightly drink. His feelings flashed from intense anger and jealousy to utter sadness and desolation.

Why had he thought that he could overcome her obsession? But he hadn't overcome his obsession. She was his obsession, the poison in his veins. He craved her presence and he craved her body. She was his wife, damnit.

He closed his eyes to still the swirling darkness but then he heard the noise he had been waiting for. There was the noise of her walking in backless slippers down the stairs. And then the noise stopped, and he rose swiftly and yet unsteadily on his feet. She wasn't going to play the innocent victim tonight. She was his wife.

He moved swiftly to the door and swung it open abruptly. He lurched into the doorway, swaying slightly from the effects of the many drinks already long since gone.

"Pray join me, Mrs. Butler." He said in a thick voice, emphasizing his claim to her. The faint light revealed the fear that quickly slid from her face behind a mask of her own making. Rhett normally would have had a biting, sarcastic comment over her hesitation, but now he had no patience left in him. "Come here, damn you," he said as his arm rose in a commanding gesture.

He watched as the expressions danced across her face as she clutched at her wrapper, making it tight against her throat. She was afraid of him. She was afraid, but she was trying hard to keep him from seeing it. It was of no use for her to hide her fear. He still could read her as clearly as he could see the pebbles under the waters of an alpine river.

She hurried down the stairs, her shoes noisily clacking as she made her descent. He stepped aside and bowed elaborately in mockery as she entered the room. He saw her wince and felt for a moment the smallest blaze of triumph at her discomfort. "Sit down," he commanded.

She looked at him in fear as he stared at her, some of his emotion pouring out despite his normal passivity. He glared at her, glared her fear. This was of her own doing. She needed to pay the piper.

"There is no reason why you should not have your nightcap, even if

I am ill bred enough to be at home," he said quietly. "Shall I pour it for

you?"

"I did not want a drink," she said stiffly. "I heard a noise and

came--"

"You heard nothing. You wouldn't have come down if you'd thought I

was home. I've sat here and listened to you racing up and down the

floor upstairs. You must need a drink badly. Take it."

"I do not--"

He picked up the decanter and sloshed a glassful, untidily.

"Take it," shoved it into her hand. "You are shaking all over." He glanced at her shaking and trembling in her seat. "Oh, don't give yourself airs. I know you drink on the quiet ,and I know how much you drink. For some time I've been intending to tell you to stop your elaborate pretenses and drink openly if you want to. Do you think I give a damn if you like your brandy?" His eyes narrowed even more as he spoke.

She took the glass from him. He saw that she wanted to hide her feelings from his, but it was pointless. She could hide nothing from him, even in his current condition.

"Drink it, I say."

She raised the glass and bolted the contents with one abrupt motion

of her arm, wrist stiff. His mouth went down as he observed how very practiced the motion was.

He said something cool and seemingly polite, but his mind was too jumbled to recall it. She responded coldy, "You are drunk, and I am going to bed."

His words slurred for a moment, his anger blazing over her momentarily. "I am very drunk and I intend to get still drunker before the

evening's over. But you aren't going to bed--not yet. Sit down."

He could see that she was wavering, trying to find a way to take her leave, and with barely repressed aggression he rushed to her side and griping her arm in a tight hold. Then he wrenched it slightly, and she quickly complied with his command, crying out slightly.

He could smell her fear, fear greater than he had ever seen in her. He leaned over her with a hard, angry glitter in the dark eyes that glowed like dark coals in his flushed face.

He stared at her, his emotions deeper than words can express driving her deviant gaze to falter, and only then did he slump into a chair opposite her and poured himself another drink. He knew she would still be plotting, because he had her cornered. And Scarlett never stopped trying to fight her way out of a corner, her actions over the years made that clearly obvious.

He drank slowly, watching her over the glass as she struggled to keep from trembling. But he saw it all without any readable expression crossing his face. Then he laughed as he maintained his eyes contact, and she trembled again, more obviously.

"It was an amusing comedy, this evening, wasn't it?"

She only quivered silently, refusing to open her mouth.

"A pleasant comedy with no character missing. The village assembled to stone the erring woman, the wronged husband supporting his wife as a gentleman should, the wronged wife stepping in with Christian spirit and casting the garments of her spotless reputation over it all. And the lover--"

"Please." Her voice trembled slightly as she spoke and made to rise from the chair.

"I don't please. Not tonight. It's too amusing. And the lover looking like a damned fool and wishing he were dead. How does it feel, my dear, to have the woman you hate stand by you and cloak your sins for you? Sit down."

She sat down.

"You don't like her any better for it, I imagine. You are wondering if she knows all about you and Ashley--wondering why she

did this if she does know--if she just did it to save her own face. And you are thinking she's a fool for doing it, even if it did save your hide but--"

"I will not listen--"

"Yes, you will listen. And I'll tell you this to ease your worry. Miss Melly is a fool but not the kind you think. It was obvious that someone had told her but she didn't believe it. Even if she saw, she wouldn't believe. There's too much honor in her to conceive of dishonor in anyone she loves. I don't know what lie Ashley Wilkes told her--but any clumsy one would do, for she loves Ashley and she loves you. I'm sure I can't see why she loves you but she does. Let that be one of your crosses."

"If you were not so drunk and insulting, I would explain everything," said Scarlett thinking somehow that she had been partially vilified. "But now--" She again started to rise to flee from this stranger. The terror on her was wearing away reason and logic.

"I am not interested in your explanations. I know the truth better than you do. By God, if you get up out of that chair just once more--

"And what I find more amusing than even tonight's comedy is the fact that while you have been so virtuously denying me the pleasures of your bed because of my many sins, you have been lusting in your heart after Ashley Wilkes. 'Lusting in your heart.' That's a good phrase, isn't it? There are a number of good phrases in that Book, aren't there?" The reference was obviously lost on her as she sat trying to comprehend the meaning of his words.

"And I was cast out because my coarse ardors were too much for your refinement--because you didn't want any more children. How bad that made me feel, dear heart! How it cut me! So I went out and found pleasant consolation and left you to your refinements. And you spent that time tracking the long-suffering Mr. Wilkes. God damn him, what ails him? He can't be faithful to his wife with his mind or unfaithful with his body. Why doesn't he make up his mind?

You wouldn't object to having his children, would you--and passing them off as mine?"

Before she moved her knew she would, so as she cried out and sprang to he lunged from his, with blood chilling soft laughter. He pressed her back into her chair and leaned over her threateningly.

"Observe my hands, my dear," he said, flexing them before her eyes. "I could tear you to pieces with them with no trouble whatsoever and I would do it if it would take Ashley out of your mind. But it wouldn't. So I think I'll remove him from your mind forever, this way. I'll put my hands, so, on each side of your head and I'll smash your skull between them like a walnut and that will blot him out."

His hands were on her head, under her flowing hair, caressing, hard, turning her face up to his. He hair wasking over hsi hands like fine silk. She was looking into his face terror etched in every line of her face. She narrowed her eyes at him, some of her fight emerging.

"You drunken fool," she said. "Take your hands off me."

He did so and seated himself on the edge of the table, pouring himself another drink, drinks beyond counting.

"I have always admired your spirit, my dear. Never more than now when you are cornered."

She drew her wrapper close about her body. She glanced around as if planning an escape route. He watched as she rose trying to as if it were without haste, though she shook. She threw her black hair fro her face

"I'm not cornered. You'll never corner me, Rhett Butler, or frighten me. You are nothing but a drunken beast who's been with bad women so long that you can't understand anything else but badness. You can't understand Ashley or me. You've lived in dirt too long to know anything else. You are jealous of something you can't understand. Good night."

She turned and started toward the door. And he laughed a loud burst of laughter that was completely unnerving. She turned back towards him, and he swayed across the room toward her. She backed toward the door and found herself against the wall as he continued his approach. He and pinned her shoulders to the wall with the strength of his hands.

"Stop laughing." Her voice was harsh, the hysteria thinly veiled.

"I am laughing because I am so sorry for you."

"Sorry--for me? Be sorry for yourself." She said incredulously.

"Yes, by God, I'm sorry for you, my dear, my pretty little fool. That hurts, doesn't it? You can't stand either laughter or pity,can you?"

He leaned heavily against her shoulders and his laughter stopped. His face changed and she turned her head as the smell of the whiskey assaulted her.

"Jealous, am I?" he said. "And why not? Oh, yes, I'm jealous of Ashley Wilkes. Why not? Oh, don't try to talk and explain. I know you've been physically faithful to me. Was that what you were trying to say? Oh, I've known that all along. All these years. How do I know? Oh, well, I know Ashley Wilkes and his breed. I know he is honorable and a gentleman. And that, my dear, is more than I can say for you--or for me, for that matter. We are not gentlemen and we have no honor, have we? That's why we flourish like green bay trees."

"Let me go. I won't stand here and be insulted." She was still trying to fight him off. Didn't she understand, if she only had stopped fighting him years ago.

"I'm not insulting you. I'm praising your physical virtue. And it hasn't fooled me one bit. You think men are such fools, Scarlett. It never pays to underestimate your opponent's strength and intelligence. And I'm not a fool. Don't you suppose I know that you've lain in my arms and pretended I was Ashley Wilkes?"

Her jaw dropped and fear and astonishment were written plainly in

her face.

"Pleasant thing, that. Rather ghastly, in fact. Like having three in a bed where there ought to be just two." He shook her shoulders, ever so slightly, hiccoughed and smiled mockingly.

"Oh, yes, you've been faithful to me because Ashley wouldn't have you. But, hell, I wouldn't have grudged him your body. I know how little bodies mean--especially women's bodies. But I do grudge him your heart and your dear, hard, unscrupulous, stubborn mind. He doesn't want your mind, the fool, and I don't want your body. I can buy women cheap. But I do want your mind and your heart, and I'll never have them, any more than you'll ever have Ashley's mind. And that's why I'm sorry for you." He could see that the sneer had stung.

"Sorry--for me?", she was obviously bewildered.

"Yes, sorry because you're such a child, Scarlett. A child crying for the moon. What would a child do with the moon if it got it? And what would you do with Ashley? Yes, I'm sorry for you—sorry to see you throwing away happiness with both hands and reaching out for something that would never make you happy. I'm sorry because you are such a fool you don't know there can't ever be happiness except when like mates like. If I were dead, if Miss Melly were dead and you had your precious honorable lover, do you think you'd be happy with him? Hell, no! You would never know him, never know what he was thinking about, never understand him any more than you understand music and poetry and books or anything that isn't dollars and cents. Whereas, we, dear wife of my bosom, could have been perfectly happy if you had ever given us half a chance, for we are so much alike. We are both scoundrels, Scarlett, and nothing is beyond us when we want something. We could have been happy, for I loved you and I know you, Scarlett, down to your bones, in a way that Ashley could never know you. And he would despise you if he did know. . . . But no, you must go mooning all your life after a man you cannot understand. And I, my darling, will continue to moon after whores. And, I dare say we'll do better than most couples."

He released her abruptly turning back to the call of the dulling liquor. And then she was gone, and he turned, some semblance of blance returned and he ran silently after her, watching as she turned her ankle. She stopped frantic to be rid of it, but now he was beside her in the dark. His hands went under the wrapper to her bare skin.

"You turned me out on the town while you chased him. By God, this is one night when there are only going to be two in my bed." He could think no thought other than driving the other man from his bed. His wife would be his tonight. His passion mingled with the anger.

He swung her off her feet into his arms and started up the stairs, her head crushed against his pounding chest. She cried out, her voice muffled against the solid wall of muscle. She was frightened by this stranger that held her, but the fear was strangely exhilirating. She screamed partly in terror but partly in an emotion that he couldn't identify, but it was stifled against him. He stopped suddenly on the landing and turned her swiftly in his arms. He bent his dark head over and kissed her with a savagery and a completeness that opened his heart to her. His only thought was to reveal for once the passion that he had hidden for every day, every moment that they had spent together. God help him. He loved her. He was a complete fool, but he did. He was shaking. He needed her. He had never needed to prove his love to her, or to brutally take his claim on his own wife before. His lips traveled from her mouth to the soft flesh revealed by the fallen wrapper to the tender flesh of her chest.

He muttered helplessly of the love he felt burning inside. He spoke of the passion in a slur that was incomprehensible. She trembled under the onslaught of his lips, but something had changed. It was not as in fear as she earlier had trembled. He was consumed by a new welcome darkness, and she was darkness. There had never been anything before this time, nothing beyond this time, only darkness and her body now willingly pressed against his. He felt her attempt to speak, but he mouth was pressed too firmly against hers to allow the words to escape. There were no words that needed to be spoken.

Suddenly he felt the rest of tension fade from her body as she began to eagerly respond to him. She was melting like ice in the sun. He was strong, and she was weak. He was dominant; she was submissive. Her arms snaked around his neck and the darkness swirled around them and enveloped them completely. He stumbled up the rest of the stairs as her hands and lips drove him to a place that he had never been. She was the beginning and the end of his world. She was all that there was.


	5. After That Night

He crawled from the bed, the words spoken through the night reverberated through his skull as the pounding in his head only in

He crawled from the bed, the words spoken through the night reverberated through his skull as the pounding in his head only intensified. In a moment of weakness he had bared his soul. It had to have been the alcohol. And some primitive need to claim her wholly as his own. She was his wife after all. And he has been driven by the need to drive Ashley from her mind totally and completely. And for the first time in their married life, the specter of Ashley Wilkes had not joined them. There had been no question in his mind that Scarlett's lusts had been consuming for him alone, if only for one night alone.

But now here he was slinking like some coward away from her and from the confessions he had uttered in the night. He quickly hurried to his room and change into fresh clothes before hurriedly riding to the comfort of Belle's arms.

He knew that he was afraid to face her. He was afraid to have to stand face to face with the only woman he had ever loved and know that he had used her against her will. Scarlett was worth so much more than a night like last night, although it had been enjoyable, at least the moments that he could remember. There had been moments when he was certain that she loved him to, but that was surely impossible. There was no room in her heart for him.

Belle would understand, she would never chastise him for his recent behavior. She was his one faithful confidant. He shuddered at the thought of having to face Melanie. She was too good for this world. She was too kind. And he felt that if she were to stand and face him that she could read all of his vile misdeeds. It seemed that somehow she could see through his mask in a way that no one else ever had.

But she had been betrayed as well by both Ashley and Scarlett. And yet he knew that all was forgiven. She was definitely the better person.

He slunk quietly into Belle's house, turning his key in the lock as he hurried to his bedroom. Right now, more than anything, he needed to lick his wounds like an animal who had barely survived a fight. For he had only barely survived. The thought of Scarlett finding comfort in her precious Ashley's arms, was enough to drive him over the brink of insanity. It already had driven him past that point last night.

He needed to escape, and Belle's was not escape enough. He needed to retreat and find a way to get away from Scarlett's poison. But he couldn't leave Bonnie alone with Scarlett, or the child would be as browbeaten as Wade and Ella already were. He would take Bonnie, and they would go away together. A child surely didn't need a mother if that mother were Scarlett O'Hara. Now he just needed to recover enough to face her.


	6. Charleston Dawn

He stood on the verandah holding the sleeping child in his arms

He stood on the verandah holding the sleeping child in his arms. The warm July air caressed him softly, as a lover. The air was warm, and during the day it could stifle, but now it was soft and comforting in its hold on him.

He couldn't put off the inevitable much longer. Bonnie was calling for her mother. And he was powerless to deny her anything. So they would return to Atlanta. They would return to the monstrosity of a house, and Bonnie would be with her mother once more. Maybe a mother's presence was of greater importance than he had ever realized.

The time away had dulled the anger of her betrayal. Now all he had left was hurt and love. But the love was so overshadowed by the pain that it seemed as if it were buried for all time. And he wanted to hurt her, hadn't he proven that already by taking her favorite child from her. And Bonnie was so young that she understood none of it. She only knew that she wanted her mother. Even now the tear trails glistened on her soft baby cheeks. She had awoken in the early hours of the morning crying for her mother. And even her father's arms were not comfort enough for her.

How he loved her. Bonnie was everything to him. She was Scarlett from before the war, a Scarlett who had never known want or hunger. And she loved him completely, wholly, and unconditionally, at least for the moment. But this victory was hollow. Scarlett still didn't love him. And Bonnie's love was a childish love. It was changeable; her love was partially for what he had done for her and what he had given her.

The sun was beginning to rise over the ocean as he watched, and he knew that the time to return was upon him, and so he stared blankly at the first rays of dawn, struggling to prepare himself to face her again.

He barely could look at himself without feeling ashamed of the way that he had treated her That Night. And now he had to pay the piper.


	7. Atlanta's Fall

Author's Note: I will be out of the country for a week, so don't expect any updates for a while. Hope that you enjoy this one. Again this greatly borrows from the original. It just tells it from Rhett's perspective instead of Scarlett's

He was not happy to be returning to Atlanta so soon. He had not intended on returning for many months more. But Bonnie's eagerness spoke volumes as to the reason for their hasty return. She cuddled the kitten that her grandmother had given her as she chattered on in her baby voice, only a handful of words making any sense. But it was obvious to anyone that the child was excited about something. And Rhett knew that the reason was that she was about to see her mother.

He slouched lower in the seat as the train lurched into the station. The time between was no more. Now it was time to face Scarlett. Now the only time he had left was the time it would take to travel from the station to the Peachtree Street House. And that span of time was not nearly enough for his comfort. The day of reckoning had arrived.

He rose from his seat and collected a satchel, allowing the porter to claim the rest while he gathered Bonnie into his arms. She giggled and tugged at the corners of his mustache, her excitement would have been contagious to anyone other than Rhett at this very moment. His heart was too full of dread at finally facing Scarlett. No one had ever caused him to be the coward before that he currently was. Truthfully until Scarlett he hadn't cared what anyone even thought about him. But now he cared, he cared too much. And now he was going to have to face his shame.

He slowly made his way out of the train until he found a couch he could hire. He hadn't even taken the time to wire ahead so that a coach would be waiting. He hadn't wanted to alert Scarlett any sooner of his imminent return. He tried to focus all of his attention on Bonnie, but even as much as he loved her, she could not distract him from the thoughts that were repeating through his mind. He had used her. He had treated her as if she were less than a whore. He had used her and then cowardly slunk away from her embraces while she slept in the wee hours of the morning. He was not a man. His actions only had proved it beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Finally and yet all too soon the mansion loomed ahead of him, an atrocity of modern architecture that stood out in stark contrast from every other home in Atlanta. Not that it could truly be called a home. It was a monstrosity, crazy with strained glass and turrets, blatantly declaring that it had built with ill-gotten gains. But not only was it an eyesore for Rhett, it was the condition of the home's emotional state that was the true measure of a home. And if that was a measure then this monstrosity was by no means a home to anyone.

And then they were home. Rhett set the luggage down on the front-hall floor with a thump. And immediately Bonnie's voice began crying, "Mother!" As she first rushed for the stairs with the resigned kitten in tow and then began her arduous climb up them on her chubby little legs. Bonnie was nearly half of the way to the top when Scarlett appeared out of breath and in a hurry.

When Bonnie spotted her mother at the top of the stairs, she held the kitten out by the scruff, as she cried excitedly "Gran'ma gave him to me."

Rhett was shocked to watch as Scarlett swept Bonnie up into her arms and kissed her. Scarlett was staring at him over Bonnie's head while he paid the cab driver. He could feel her eyes boring into his back.

He looked up, recognized that he had indeed seen her and then he swept off his hat in a wide gesture, bowing as he did. Her eyes met his dark ones his dark eyes. He struggled against the urge to turn and run. What would she say to him. And how could he have ever been such a coward. He didn't believe his eyes, for a moment it seemed as if she was happy to see him. Maybe she had missed him. Maybe all wasn't lost.

"Where's Mammy?" asked Bonnie, wriggling in her mother's grasp. Rhett observed the interaction between the child and mother as he strode silently up the stairs. Oddly, Scarlett seemed to be reluctant about setting the child down. He tried to keep his apprehension in check as he prepared to face her. He couldn't allow her to see any weakness. So his face was blank and expressionless.

She stood on the landing, leaning against the banisters. He looked her without any other greeting and simply said:

"You are looking pale, Mrs. Butler. Is there a rouge shortage?"

He couldn't let her know that he had missed her. He couldn't let her know that she had any power over him. God knows he couldn't kiss her, because one kiss would bare his soul. He watched as Mammy bobbed a curtsy and led Bonnie down the hall to the nursery. He stood beside her on the landing, his eyes appraising her carelessly. He removed his panama hat and held it carelessly at his hip.

"Can this wanness mean that you've been missing me?" he questioned

and though his lips smiled although the smile did not reach up into his eyes.

There was venom in her eyes, venom that was too unmistakable to be missed, and the smile disappeared from his face. "If I'm pale it's your fault and not because I've missed you, you conceited thing. It's because--" He listened intently ready to hear her reason. He tried to hide the hope that she had missed him, that she wanted him, that after that night, she had finally realized how much they meant to each other "It's because I'm going to have a baby!" She finally blurted out.

The words hit him suddenly, more powerful than any blow he had ever been dealt. He sucked in his breath suddenly and his eyes immediately traced over her figure. He stepped towards her quickly to put a hand on her arm but she twisted violently away from him, seemingly repulsed His face hardened at that moment, as he stared at the anger in her eyes.

"Indeed!" he said coolly, baring the hope that this was indeed his child, although somehow deep inside he knew that Scarlett and Ashely had never truly been together. "Well, who's the happy father? Ashley?" He couldn't resist the taunt. He needed to still make her feel the pain he felt every time he sensed that she was thinking of her precious Ashley.

She clutched at the newel post until her knuckles turned white; he knew that her hand must be hurting, but he refused to acknowledge any of her pain. The insult found its mark, cleanly and precisely. It was in jest, but he could see in the flashing of her eyes that it had wounded her. He could see that she was ready to attack, as a cat provoked. He couldn't hide the light in his eyes though. There was to be another child, another Bonnie to love. And maybe this child would make Scarlett see.

"Damn you!" her voice was shaking with rage as she cried. "You--you

know it's yours. And I don't want it any more than you do. No--no

woman would want the children of a cad like you. I wish-- Oh,

God, I wish it was anybody's baby but yours!"

His face instantly contorted, twitching with anger and hurt. For a moment she seemed to feel triumph that she had wounded him as much as he had wounded her. But then his face once again became impassive as he stroked one side of his mustache.

"Cheer up," he said, turning and resuming his trek up the stairs,

"maybe you'll have a miscarriage."

He felt the air move as lunged at him, but as an accomplished fighter, he sidestepped and threw his arm out to ward her off. She made contact with his arm, and it threw her off balance. He watched with horror stricken eyes as she made a wild clutch for the newel post. But she

missed it. He lunged after her, trying to pull her back. "Scarlett." He screamed her name but it seemed caught in his throat. She was going to die. He knew it. He had killed her. He had killed his won child. He knew it with certainty as he watched as she fell backwards and his hard. Her screams of fear and pain echoed through the mansion. And she continued to roll down the stairs until she landed in a heap at the bottom, a pale heap on the hard floor. Dazed and severely injured. He rushed down the stairs after her as fear clutched at him. He swept her broken body in his arms and began running back up the stairs she had fallen down. "Mammy," he cried hoarsely. "Mammy!" He screamed, he was terrified that she would die in his arms. And he knew that it was all his fault. He clutched her to him, willing that his life would flow into her giving her back the life he had taken. "Scarlett, Scarlett, my love, please don't die."


	8. The Ghost of Guilt

_ Author's Note: Sorry I was so long in updating. I had a wonderful trip, and for fans of Scarlett, I did get pictures of the Dublin Castle and the rooms's that would have been used for the scenes during Dublin's season. I did also get some pictures of the Irish countryside, although I went south and apparently, Adamstown would be North of Dublin. I still might go back and do more scenes from earlier, so we can have happier scenes, but for now I'm wriring primarily in order. So here, without furthur adieu, is the next chapter._

Rhett was guilt stricken. For the first time in his life he had no idea what he could say or what he could do. She was dead. Scarlett was dead. All he could see in his mind, was the way she looked as she lay in a silent heap at the bottom of that staircase that seemed to reach to the moon or down to hell. All thought had been abandoned as he rushed to her. No thought other than saving her. She had moaned in pain when he lifted her into his arms. She had felt so slight in his arms when he had carried her pale and broken body in his arms. The children, having heard the commotion were standing in the hallway, when he rushed past screaming in terror for someone to help. And for once he had paid the children no mind. But now their scared pinched faces swam in his mind. They could never know. The children must never know that he had killed their mother. O, God! They could never know. For then they would hate him, hate him with the same passionate hate that he held in his heart for himself..

They hadn't even known about the baby. How Bonnie would have loved a baby sister or brother. But that child was gone. Gone before it even had a chance to take a breath. And he had killed that child -- his child. In his bristly words he had sent his own child spiraling to their death before they were even born. How could anyone ever live with guilt like this? This was worse than war. This wasn't some enemy. This was the woman that he had loved since he had seen her. And this was his own child. The other deaths on his hands were nothing in comparison to this. He stared moodily at his hands expecting to find them coated in red, but he saw nothing. So he stared again out the door into the hallway.

He sat in the dark watching as many feet and bodies rushed past the door, hurrying to save a woman who was already gone. How was he going to tell the children? How was he going to face this? How could he tell them that he had killed their mother. He longed to forget. He longed for the voices in his head to silenced. He longed for any respite from the grief that clung to him and shame and the guilt.

And as a shimmer in the darkness he could see her. "You got what you wanted. I had the miscarriage. And I'm gone too. You got what you wanted." Her voice was brittle as she skimmed across the carpet towards him. "You killed me Rhett. You did something that poverty, famine, the fall of Atlanta, and even the damned Yankees couldn't do. You killed me Rhett. You killed me."

He shut his eyes to try to block out the image of her. "Scarlett, no, please, Scarlett, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to Scarlett. I need you Scarlett. Please Scarlett don't leave me. Please Scarlett... Please don't leave." Tears spilled from his eyes, flowing over the harsh lines that the grief and stress and worry had etched on his face.

"Scarlett," he sobbed. "Scarlett, I love you."

A small figure toddled into the dark room. "Daddy." Bonnie's small voice called out. "Daddy."

She found her father in the dark and climbed onto his lap. "Daddy been crying? Daddy, why you crying?" She questioned.

Rhett shook his head as her little hands patted at his moist cheeks.

"Daddy, where's mama?" Bonnie quizzed. "Wade says she sick. Where's my mama?"

These words sent Rhett back into his musings that Bonnie had only momentarily pulled him from. He held the small body close to his own as his tears slid down his face. And Bonnie snuggled against him, knowing that her daddy's arms were the safest place in the world.


	9. Ivory White

_Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, I always appreciate it! I hope that everyone is enjoying this. And if you aren't enjoying that you are at least feeling what Rhett is feeling..._

It was like looking at a ghost. She was as pale as she had been when she had accused him of killing her, of course that had only been in his mind-- she had only been a vision, a manifestation of his guilt and fear and anguish. She had somehow survived. Scarlett was alive, although that had not been a certainty for quite some time after she fell. He stood across the room from her watching as her chest rose and fell in a slow steady rhythm. Her hair was a stark contrast to her pale, ever so pale face that matched the sheets of her bed. Dark, heavy half circles set below her eyes; her eyelashes fanned out upon the heavy shadow.

There's was a tragedy, a tragedy in league with all the great tragedies of history and literature. He had lost his best friend and confident when he had married her. Weren't you supposed to be able to friends with the person that you loved with all of your heart? Weren't you supposed to be happy when you found a love like this. But no, this love was like a madness. This love was insanity driving him beyond limits to a place he did not understand. He had no footing here. He was like a child thrown into deep water, water so engulfing that he could not discern what was up or down. And it was accompanied with a feeling that he couldn't breathe, that all air supply was gone. And that was his love for her.

Sometimes she moaned in her sleep. He knew that it was inevitable even as he watched her. Ever since Melanie had consoled him on that desperate terrifying night, listening to the ravings of a mad, desperate man, he had been visiting Scarlett, but only at the times when he was certain that she was soundly asleep and that there was no chance of anyone even catching him. But he needed to see her, he needed to know that she was still alive. She had to stay alive even if he could never hold her again. But he was not ready yet to look into her eyes. He wasn't ready to face her. Not with the cold words he had spoken, not with the acts he had done. He wasn't ready to see her eyes open.

Sometimes she cried in her sleep. She didn't awaken, and so he was never certain what was causing her tears. Perhaps she was in pain, or perhaps she was reliving the terrifying moments of that seemingly never ending fall. Or possibly it was both. Or maybe even she had really wanted their child, and she was now mourning her loss. It could have even been all three.

But the sad fact was that she never called for him. Never once did he hear his name pass through her pinched, taut lips. He listened intently, hoping against hope, praying that God really could hear him. But his request never came through. Rarely was anything she said even discernible. Her voice was nothing but a whisper, as if it took all the strength she possessed to murmur the indistinct sounds that flowed out.

He desperately longed to pull her into his arms and shelter her from everything in her life-- from the memories and from the snubs and hurts thats pricked at her. He remembered the nights that he had held her, fighting away the demons of the nightmare that plagued her. Perhaps these nightmares had returned. Perhaps his arms would soothe her, but he was too afraid to act. Afraid because he had nearly killed her. He was more afraid than he had ever been during the war.

She would be safer and possibly even happier if they were polite distant strangers in their own home. He would stay in the marriage, despite Scarlett. Scarlett would be safer and happier without him. He would stay for the sake of the children. It was obvious that Bonnie loved her mother and he could not take the child from her mother again. He could not deprive his princess of anything.

Wade and Ella needed him as well. He had been a part of their lives for as long as they remembered. Ella mostly didn't remember any time without him. He was staying for them. He was the only father that these children had.

Could he be happy away from her. It was pointless to end their union, because he had proven time and time again that he was helpless to the pull that she had on him. He had tried over the years to escape from her, but he had failed miserably each and every time. He had risked everything, seemingly beyond reason and logic to be near her and keep her safe. Keeping her safe was the least that he could offer her, even if it hurt him.

But nothing seemed to matter as he stared at her face, still ivory against the sheets. Nothing mattered but saving her from him. He finally believed what those around him had been saying for years. He was no good. How could he be any good. He was a murderer. A murderer of his own child.

Finally, he turned and left the gaudy rose palace of a room behind him, retreating to his own masculine sanctuary where the light glowed brightly through the night. Bonnie was sound asleep; her small lips puckered in a rosebud kiss. She looked so much like her mother. Sometimes he felt like he must have fallen back in time when he stared at her ivory completion. Her skin was pale in the flickering light, and her dark curls tumbled around her face. Her lips parted with each breath, before closing again. Her dark lashes fanned out in a delicate spray across her creamy skin, and the faint blush of roses painted her cheeks.

Here was his solace. Here was the place that he could retreat from the terror that his hands and words had caused. And he knew that he didn't deserve the love of such a child. But he loved her all the more for that reason. She was his chance at redemption. She was all that he could hold onto of his love for Scarlett. She was his only hope. The only light in his future, if it wasn't for Bonnie, he would have nothing. He would be nothing. For all he was her poured out into her, she was his all.


	10. the Man becomes a child

_Author's Note: I'm sorry for any confusion this causes. As I have stated previously, I did not promise that these would be in order, and this chapter chronilogically goes before the previous chapter but after the one before it. I had another chapter completed, but it didn't feel right, I realized it needed more. And so there is this chapter and then another chapter that will again be again up to where we are in the story. SO basically this is after Bonnie comforts Rhett after he imagines a dea Scarleet acusing him of murder. But it takes place prior to Rhett watching Scarlett as she sleeps. SO sorry if this cause any confusion. I hope that you enjoy this._

He was still in the dark when she came for him. He was always in the dark now. The glow of a lit cigar was the only light in the room-- the only light in the darkness.

He was in a sad state. He was getting more and more unkempt each day. He almost didn't recognize himself. Or he might not have recognized himself if he was aware enough of himself to notice. He was like a condemned man waiting for the final word to come down and for the executioner to appear. He neither ate nor slept; he only waited for that final verdict to be read. Debris surrounded him as his tired eyes stared into the darkness. The only brightness in his existence was when Bonnie would come into the room. Her small arms were the only respite from his tortured mind.

His clothes hung more loosely on his diminishing frame. He held on to each word from the sickroom, preparing himself for what had already occurred in his mind. When Melanie delivered the news that she was worse, it nearly rent him in two. If it hadn't been for Bonnie's most timely appearance, he might have taken his pistol and sought an end to her guilt. But she had appeared at exactly the most desperate moment. She was the only reason he had gone on in that moment.

It was in this darkness that Melanie found him each time. The floor littered with the uneaten food and cigar butts. Never once had Melanie been able to offer Rhett the words that he wanted to hear. She could see it in the line of shoulders in defeat that he loved her. She could see his agony. That he loved her was beyond question. He would have died to save her if he could have. And so Melanie took upon herself the task of keeping him up to date on Scarlett's condition. She tried to give him hope, when there didn't seem to be much to offer at all. Most people might see Melanie as a ray of sunshine, but it was clear to anyone that entered Scarlett's room that death was a very real possibility.

It was in the darkness that she found him. She finally had news that she was delighted to share, news that they had all been only hoping for. But he was not prepared for this news. He had prepared himself for her death, not for her to live.

"She's dead?" he asked with glazed eyes. The alcohol clinging to him as he found solace in the dulling liquid.

"Oh, no. She's much better." Melanie consoled, the joy plainly showing on her face.

"Oh, my God," he wailed and then he began to sob, wracking body shaking sobs that seemed to shake the foundations of the world. There was a strange choking sound that he was surprised to discover was coming from his own throat. And then he heard the door shut, and he felt her gentle hand on his shoulder. He clutched at her as he had once done with his mother. He was a child again, and he clung to her as a terrified young boy with his head in her lap as she offered kind consoling words to him. She softly stroked his black hair as she murmured to him.

Somehow that released the dam of words that he had been fighting. And he babbled, telling her things that he should never have told anyone. He opened his heart and laid it there at her feet. He spoke like a child, hiding his head in the folds of her skirt, the material of the skirt gathered tightly in his hands. The words came of their own volition; he held nothing back from her.

She simply patted his head as she did any other child and said: "Hush! Captain Butler! You must not tell me these things! You are not yourself. Hush!"

But the stream of words continued to flow, showing no signs of ceasing. Finally the words at the center of his fear came forth, "I've killed Scarlett, I've killed her. You don't understand. She didn't want this baby and--"

"You must hush! You are beside yourself! Not want a baby? Why every woman wants--" Melanie refuted.

"No! No! You want babies. But she doesn't. Not my babies--" He brokenly cried.

"You must stop!" Melanie pleaded.

"You don't understand. She didn't want a baby and I made her. This--this baby--it's all my damned fault. We hadn't been sleeping together--" He confessed.

"Hush, Captain Butler! It is not fit--" as the blush that had begun earlier deepened to crimson.

"And I was drunk and insane and I wanted to hurt her--because she had hurt me. I wanted to--and I did--but she didn't want me. She's never wanted me. She never has and I tried--I tried so hard and—" He paused only to take a breath to continue. "And I didn't know about this baby till the other day--when she fell. She didn't know where I was to write to me and tell me—but she wouldn't have written me if she had known. I tell you--I tell you I'd have come straight home--if I'd only known--whether she wanted me home or not. . . ."

"Oh, yes, I know you would!"

"God, I've been crazy these weeks, crazy and drunk! And when she told me, there on the steps--what did I do? What did I say? I laughed and said: 'Cheer up. Maybe you'll have a miscarriage.' And she--"

"There! There!" Melanie crooned, seeming to ignore his words. "Hush, now. I understand."

He raised his head violently and looked up at her with bloodshot eyes, fiercely throwing off her hands. "No, by God, you don't understand! You can't understand! You're-- you're too good to understand. You don't believe me but it's all true and I'm a dog. Do you know why I did it? I was mad, crazy with jealousy. She never cared for me and I thought I could make her care. But she never cared. She doesn't love me. She never has. She loves--"

But he stopped then. He seemed to regain his sanity just in time to prevent himself from wounding his protector. He couldn't hurt Melanie like that, dear sweet Melanie. He must protect her from that information at all costs. Something in her gentle eyes broke through the haze that clouded his mind.

"I'm a cad," he muttered in stead of finishing the truth of who Scarlett loved. "But not that big a cad. And if I did tell you, you wouldn't believe me, would you? You're too good to believe me. I never before knew anybody who was really good. You wouldn't believe me, would you?"

"No, I wouldn't believe you," said Melanie soothingly, beginning to stroke his hair again. "She's going to get well. There, Captain Butler! Don't cry! She's going to get well."

He nodded and sat for a moment remembering his own mothers soothing arms, before rising and allowing Melanie to stand. "You must go see her, Captain Butler. Even if she hasn't said it, she needs you near her. She needs to see you." He nodded, wiping the tears from his face with one of his own handkerchief's. "Thank you, Miss Melanie. Thank you. I will. I just don't think I'm ready quite yet." She offered him a tired smile as she left the room, leaving him to his musings.

He wondered momentarily if he would ever be ready to face her. He wondered if he would ever be able to look into her eyes again. But he did need to see her. She didn't need him, but he needed to see her again. He needed to prove that she lived and breathed. He needed to know that he hadn't been the end of her. She needed saving from him, but she also needed saving from herself. Perhaps he could find a way to make her slow down. He injuries might never allow her to live the life that she had lived.

What if there was more that they weren't telling him, what if this injury had crippled her? It required no stretch of the imagination for his to consider that a possibility. Could he live with himself, if he had taken more from her? Could he bear it, if by his doing she was unable to walk? What kind of life would that be for her? He wouldn't leave her, he could never leave her, not when there was any doubt as to whether she needed him. But nor could he deal with the guilt of what he had done. He had to see her,; he had to know the extent of her injuries.

He had to see her again.


	11. Out of Options

_Author's Note: Sorry that the last half of the last chapter was bunched up when I posted it. I tried to fix it all day yesterday, but I was having too many problems with the site. This posting is the chpater I was working on and the beinning is what I felt needed to be added. I'm pretty happy with this. So happy reading. Thanks to everyone that read and reviewed, and also for anyone that tried to review but couldn't Thanks again._

It was inevitable. One of the nights that he came into her room, it would no longer be a secret. She was healing; the bruises were fading. But the life hadn't returned to her eyes.

"Rhett," she whispered. He watched warily as she opened her eyes to find him sitting in the chair beside her. For a moment she stared at him, as if she was trying to justify the image of him in her mind with the man who sat beside her. He knew that her illness had changed him as well.

He leaned forward, startled at the sound her whisper thin voice. He was caught, but he might as well face the music. "Scarlett, " he sighed.

She stared at him warily. Her eyes seemed to hold terror, and he wondered if she was remembering the fall, remembering the panicked look that had been present in his eyes. The emotions flashed across her face, seeming to over power her, and she shut her eyes, as if trying to close out the memories.

Maybe he shouldn't have come. She didn't want him there. She never wanted him near. He wasn't the one she chose. He had pursued her knowing that she was in love with another. But he loved her. God, he loved her. And he had sat in the shadows, watching her breath, watching her heal. He hadn't wanted her to see him, and he still wasn't sure that he wanted her to know that he had ever been there, it might reveal how much he cared about her.

"Scarlett? Do I need to fetch Mammy or Dr. Meade?" His voice was edged with concern at the pain he had read in her eyes, but her face revealed that she was unaware of what he was truly feeling. Still she couldn't see through his mask to his inner heart, for she would tear it to shreds with her meticulously honed talons.

"No," her thin voice offered. "I don't need them in here. I'm just tired." Her thin hand shook as she smoothed the covers over her stomach.

He stared at where her hand lay, wishing for the child that he had never known about until that day, and then he looked up and found her eyes trailing his. "The baby is gone," she whispered, brokenly.

He nodded grimly. His heart beat furiously, his throat constricting with emotion as he spoke, "I know." He paused, and with his head bowed low he added, " I said things I should not have said." His heart continued hammering out its terrified cadence, as he held back the confessions of love and pain and grief. He couldn't tell her anymore, because he knew that she would only crush him if she saw a glimmer of the truth.

Tears pooled in her eyes, but no words came forth. Then a solitary tear slipped from her eye. She shakily brushed it away, but Rhett stared at her horrified. He had done this. Slowly the first tear was followed by second, and then more tears in rapid succession. And Rhett was helpless to do anything. He rose from the chair and backed away, blaming himself for the torrent of tears. "I'm going to get Mammy..." he said as he rushed out the door, leaving her alone as she cried.

She was a broken woman, and he had done this. There was no anger left in her to stir, to pour life into her. He had stolen all of the life from her. He had broken her unbreakable spirit. He wouldn't return to see her. It hurt too much, and she didn't want him anyway. She wanted someone else to be in there holding her hand. She had wanted the baby to be anyone's baby but his... how could he face that?

And so he watched from a distance as her body gradually healed, but her emotional state did not. He stood, framed against the door where she could not see, as she struggled to take each painful step. It took time, but she once again rose from her bed and slowly made her way back into her life. The slightest exertion seemed to drain her, the blood draining from her face leaving her ashen. Only three weeks after the fall and she was already trying to visit the mills, of course she would... to see her precious Ashley. She was a fool to push herself like that, she was going to kill herself at the rate that she was going. But after that first day, the first of resuming her regular life, she was so exhausted that she fell asleep at the supper table, her hair falling into her soup, and one of the servants carried her to bed.

But no matter what she did, there was no sparkle left. Her eyes were flat and dull, and they seemed much to large for her pale, pinched face. Her bones jutted out, the skin stretched tautly across them. She looked like a skeleton walking. She was thinner now than when she had come to him in Atlanta while he was in jail after the war. She wasn't eating well, barely even touching her food, which seemed an indicator to Rhett more than anything, that she was not well. Even the children were noticing. Bonnie frequently tried to feed her mother from her own plate, and Wade stared at his mother with fear in his eyes. It kindled in him a memory of little food and want. It brought back some of his earliest memories that flooded his mind with fear and terror. But even then, mother had exuded a weary vibrancy that assured him that all would be well. Now there was no assurance to be found.

Finally Rhett felt he had no other choice than to see Dr. Meade about the state that she was in. A week after she had tried to resume her regular schedule found Rhett visiting Dr. Meade at his downtown office.

"What brings you here, Captain Butler?" Dr Meade questioned.

"It's Scarlett, "Rhett confessed.

"Well, what seems to be the problem?" The doctor prodded.

"She isn't eating, and that isn't like her, and she is still so weak. She tires herself at the slightest exertion, but then she continues to force herself to go to the mills and the store to confirm that they are being handled appropriately." He paused to look into the doctor eyes, "I'm afraid she's going to kill herself."

The doctor appraised him quietly. "Well then simply tell her that she cannot continue, or knowing Scarlett as I do, you might need to send her away to recover. I know that she is a headstrong child, and she can be difficult at times. But you are her husband, and it is your place to do this for the sake of your family."

Rhett stood at this comment, prepared to leave the office, but then he turned back to Dr. Meade. "Sir, how injured was she?"

Dr. Meade nodded, "She nearly died. I don't know how she didn't, but if you are asking if you and your wife can continue your marital relations, then I must tell you, another child might be the best thing for her. She seems to be so heartbroken about the loss."

Rhett nodded solemnly, "Thank you, sir."

"Good day, Captain Butler."

And Rhett left the office with a new plan cemented in his mind.

His thinking was confirmed when Scarlett arrived home much earlier than anticipated from her daily trip to the mills, the driver of the buggy seemed frightened as he assisted her into the house. She was shaking as she came through the door, as weakness seemed to over power her. Her ashen pallor seemed even more apparent against the rich red interior. She stumbled to the nearest seat and collapsed upon it, while Rhett watched from the door of the dining room, unseen by her tired eyes.

The coachman, however, quickly spied Rhett and hurried to him. "Masta Rhett, she done neah fainted at the mill. I knows its none o my bidness, but suh, I doan think she is well." He told his master quietly.

Rhett nodded, "Thank you." But his mind screamed, not at the coachman, but at Scarlett for her maddening stubborn pride and determination. O, at times it had been one of the things that he loved about her, but now, it was driving him to distraction. He couldn't concentrate on business when he knew that she was pushing herself this way.

The servant disappeared, as Rhett made his way to Scarlett's side. His heart constricted as he stared at her, so pale, and without defense. It was in these moments that he longed to hold her again and soothe away the nightmare that he life had become. Her eyes were closed as she leaned limply against the back of the chair, her breathing came in short raspy puffs.

"Scarlett!" He spoke her name gently, but she jerked at the noise, and her weary eyes opened. Tears were pooling there from the exhaustion and over exertion.

Without waiting for any signal from her, he gently lifted her into his arms and carried her up the stairs, moving gently, and without haste, knowing that she was too weak to accomplish the task on her own. He strode up the stairs with a single minded determination, although faint words of protest escaped her lips. Her protests were no stronger than that of mewing kitten. And he refused to listen, knowing that for once she was too weak to fight him. She needed him fighting for her.

Ella was standing near the top of the stairs, and alarm was written across her face. It brought to mind all too clearly the image of her mother the last time that Uncle Rhett had carried her up the stairs. Rhett saw the child, and with a glance he understood her fears. "Your mother is just tired. She didn't want me to carry her up and put her to bed, but I didn't let her have a choice." Rhett explained with a comforting smile. Scarlett at times was very much like a recalcitrant child, unwilling to go to bed.

Ella nodded, thinking of the times few that they were that Uncle Rhett had carried her to bed when she didn't want to. It seemed to pacify the child's worries and she turned and returned to the playroom.

Scarlett glared at Rhett as he sat her on her bed. She fairly hissed as he began removing her dress. "Don't be a child Scarlett, you shouldn't be out and wearing a corset yet. You broke several ribs, and you have to know that your corset by itself can break a rib. You need to give them a chance to heal before you put your self in that cage again. You are exhausted and no amount of protest can change my mind."

He undressed her, and she lay back on the bed as he covered her with the coverlet.

An icy stillness hung in the air suspended between them. All passion and fire from previous encounters was gone, even from the moments just prior. She had lost all of her fight. Now that his logic and reason had returned, since she was no longer in his arms. He knew that he had little left to offer her, he had to keep it that way, he couldn't give her any more of himself. And so, there was only a frigid politeness remaining. "How are you feeling, Scarlett?" Rhett asked as he smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from his perfectly tailored suit.

She stared at him from her bed with pale haunted eyes, allowing the silence to speak for her. He held his face, as always, in an immobile mask, hiding all emotion from her. Hiding his thoughts was one of his greatest talents. Scarlett never needed to know what he still felt -- what he would always feel.

"I'll bring the children in later to see you, Ella was worried, and I know that Bonnie wants to see you, that is, if you feel up to it..." He added with the slightest hesitation – the slightest tremor that could have indicated to her that his feelings for her remained.

She nodded slowly, and then finding her voice she agreed. "That would be fine. I'm fine. I just over did a little today." Her voice was brittle and reed thin, showing that she was not quite as well as she would like to make him believe. She stared down at her hands. He was thankful that she was looking at her hands because the other parts of her body were still covered in the fading yellowed bruises from her fall.

While her eyes were trained on her hands, his eyes drank in the site of her as a starving man stares at a feast. Pale though she was, she was alive and that was all that truly mattered. He really couldn't ask for more, she had been spared. God had been mercifully when neither of them deserved his mercy. And he was going to keep alive. He wouldn't risk the possibility of losing her forever. He loved her too much for that. It would be better in the long run to maintain this detached indifference than to place her in danger of further harm. "Scarlett, if you need anything..." he paused afraid to reveal his thoughts, so he continued with a different ending to the statement, " just let one of the servants know."

She glanced up at him, confusion flashed across her face at his odd statement, but all passion for life had been drained from her. "Thank you."

"Scarlett, do you think... would you like to go spend some time at Tara when you are more recovered. Nothing seems to help you more than that White Elephant." He added.

She smiled thinly, "No, Rhett. I need to be here to take care of the mills and the store."

"You're going to kill yourself, you fool. You aren't strong enough to be running the mills and the store. For once in your life, listen to me. You need to focus on your health instead of money. You don't need the money. I have more than enough to provide for you." He said as he glared at her.

"I'm fine," she protested. "I just did too much."

"You nearly died, less than a month ago, and here you are trying to tell me that you are fine. You are not fine Scarlett. You look like the walking dead." He turned his back on her and began to pace the room. She was so infuriating. How was he going to convince her that it was a more serious matter for her health than she had ever encountered before.

He glanced over his shoulder at her as a trembling hand reached up to her face, "Why would you say such things?" she asked.

"Because I don't want my child to loose her mother, thats why." Rhett stated firmly. "I don't want to lose you," he added silently.

She looked at him, hurt and bewildered. "You are sending me away then, I take it. You've already decided."

"Yes, Scarlett. I've already made the arrangements. I'm sending you with Prissy and Wade and Ella to Tara. I'm keeping Bonnie here with me. You need to go back there." He said with finality, for his decision had already been made. He needed Bonnie here. He needed the time with his daughter, to shower her with the love that he could not shower her mother with.

She listened quietly to him, and offered a resigned agreement. "Fine. After all," she added with bitterness, "I did have a miscarriage." The words seemed to be an accusation that went straight for the intended target-- his heart. He only slightly flinched, before heading out the door without an answer to her words. After all she had every right to make that comment. He had stupidly said it.

The thought pressed against him as he stepped outside of her room. He exhaled loudly as he reached his hand up to rub his temples. She wasn't going to make it easy, not that she ever had. But she was far too weak now to be capable of dealing with their sad imitation of a marriage, or to deal with her business obligations. And he was too pained, too consumed with the guilt to be able to maintain the emotional distance that their situation required. He carried the burden of her near death on his shoulders. And he hadn't a clue as how to proceed. But one thing was certain, she needed to return to Tara. She needed to gain strength from its soil. It was from that red earth that her strength seemed to blossom. And then possibly she could be well again. He couldn't stand the thought of her in the condition she was now in, and sadly she was already so much better than she had been.

She had been so terribly weak, and it was all his fault. All his fault.

And so it was a pale, thin woman that he sent away. Wade and Ella were uneasy at their mother's unusually still, white face. They clung close to Prissy, for even to their childish minds there was

something frightening in the cold, impersonal atmosphere between their mother and their stepfather.

She looked like a bewildered child when he saw her ashen face through the window one last time as the train pulled away from the station. This was his last resort. He could think of no other solution to bring her back to life.

He stood silently on the platform, watching until the train disappeared from site, wishing that things were different, that they loved each other, that they could share this loss together. But that was impossible, because Scarlett loved Ashley and he couldn't let her know that he loved her. Their love, or rather their marriage was much too complicated.

He handed Bonnie over to mammy to be taken home in the carriage, and then with a look of bitter and grim determination, he mounted his horse set on a mission of his own.

She still needed protecting from herself. And he already knew how to accomplish at least a portion of that goal.

He only had to turn Scarlett's pride against herself.


	12. Can Angels Lie?

_Author's Note: Sorry this isn't my best, but I felt this needed to be here. I am already working on the next in the chronology. We have sometime when there is no description of anything. So here's another update, and there very well may be more this weekend._

Rhett paid little attention to the day around him, as he headed to Melanie's squat little house. He had bigger things on his mind than the warm morning air. He did not rush, as he directed the horse where he wanted to go. But soon he was in front of the Wilkes's home, and he could see Melanie, occupied with some ordinary task, seated on the vine covered front porch.

He tossed his reins over the cast iron Negro boy who stood at the sidewalk, and then he began to purposefully stride up the walk way towards the house. They hadn't spoken more than briefly to each other since he had cried into her lap like a child, but murmuring things that no child should hear. And at those times she seemed to have difficulty looking into his eyes. Upon coming closer, he could see the basket full of socks that appeared to need mending.

He tried to avoid letting her know that he knew that she was uncomfortable, but sometimes that was unavoidable. He knew she remembered the words he had spoken in a drunken-haze, terrified that Scarlett was dead at his hands. And he could see in her stance that she was uncomfortable, even as he approached, afraid, perhaps that he would mention that conversation, or rather confession. But she rose in greeting as he nimbly swept up the stairs.

"Scarlett has gone?" Melanie asked, hoping to keep her voice under control and at her normal pitch.

"Yes. Tara will do her good," he said smiling, thinking of the possessive way that she loved the red earth of Tara. "Sometimes I think she's like the giant Antaeus who became stronger each time he touched Mother Earth. It doesn't do for Scarlett to stay away too long from the patch of red mud she loves. The sight of cotton growing will do her more good than all Dr. Meade's tonics."

"Won't you sit down?" said Melanie, fluttering and blushing, seemingly bother by his presence.

"Miss Melly," he said gently, "does my presence annoy you? Would you rather I went away? Pray be frank." He hoped she could read the sincerity in his voice and his eyes if she would look up. He needed her on his side. He wanted to help her, but in doing so he would be helping himself. He was tired, but this had to be taken care of. He had to protect Scarlett, and he had to reid her of the mills to do so.

She finally looked up at him, imploringly, and her embarrassment seemed to fade. She appraised him for a moment. And he wasn't certain whether she was able to see his weariness or his sadness, but see soon invited him to "Do sit down, Captain Butler."

He sat down heavily and watched her as she picked up her darning "Miss Melly, I've come to ask a very great favor of you and," he smiled and his mouth twisted down, "to enlist your aid in a

deception from which I know you will shrink." She would hate to deceive her husband, of that he had no doubt. But he had to make her see that it was the only way to save Scarlett.

"A—deception?" Melly stuttered, giving the exact reaction that he had expected.

"Yes. Really, I've come to talk business to you." He looked at her steadily, trying to keep things very business like and structured.

"Oh, dear. Then it's Mr. Wilkes you'd better see. I'm such a goose about business. I'm not smart like Scarlett." Melly fluttered some more, her kind eyes wary as to what he was truly wanting. She was smarter than she gave herself credit for.

"I'm afraid Scarlett is too smart for her own good," he said cautiosuly, "and that is exactly what I want to talk to you about. You know how-- ill she's been. When she gets back from Tara she will start again hammer and tongs with the store and those mills which I wish devoutly would explode some night. I fear for her health, Miss Melly." He hoped that this confession would tug at Melanie's heart strings, that it would compel her to fight for Scarlett as she had done after the incident at the mill. But he knew Melanie believed that she owed her life to Scarlett and she would be willing to do almost anything if it would protect her.

"Yes, she does far too much. You must make her stop and take care of herself." Melanie offered sincerely.

He laughed. "You know how headstrong she is. I never even try to argue with her. She's just like a willful child. She won't let me help her-- she won't let anyone help her. I've tried to get her to sell her share in the mills but she won't. And now, Miss Melly, I come to the business matter. I know Scarlett would sell the remainder of her interest in the mills to Mr. Wilkes but to no one else, and I want Mr. Wilkes to buy her out."

"Oh, dear me! That would be nice but--" she paused uncomfortably, seeming to be working through the reasons that she would be unable to do so. He had to explain...

"Miss Melly, I want to lend you the money," said Rhett.

"That's so kind of you, but we might never repay it." Melanie stated, flatly refusing.

"I don't want it repaid. Don't be angry with me, Miss Melly! Please hear me through. It will repay me enough to know that Scarlett will not be exhausting herself driving miles to the mills every day. The

store will be enough to keep her busy and happy. . . . Don't you see?" There was a pleading look in his eyes, as if his life as well as Scarlett's depended on his request.

"Well--yes--" said Melanie uncertainly.

"You want your boy to have a pony don't you? And want him to go to the university and to Harvard and to Europe on a Grand Tour?"

"Oh, of course," cried Melanie. "I want him to have everything but—well, everyone is so poor these days that--"

"Mr. Wilkes could make a pile of money out of the mills some day," said Rhett. "And I'd like to see Beau have all the advantages he deserves."

"Oh, Captain Butler, what a crafty wretch you are!" she cried, smiling. "Appealing to a mother's pride! I can read you like a book."

"I hope not," said Rhett, and for the first time there was a gleam in his eye. "Now will you let me lend you the money?"

"But where does the deception come in?"

"We must be conspirators and deceive both Scarlett and Mr. Wilkes."

"Oh, dear! I couldn't!"

"If Scarlett knew I had plotted behind her back, even for her own good--well, you know her temper! And I'm afraid Mr. Wilkes would refuse any loan I offered him. So neither of them must know where

the money comes from."

"Oh, but I'm sure Mr. Wilkes wouldn't refuse, if he understood the matter. He is so fond of Scarlett."

"Yes, I'm sure he is," said Rhett smoothly. "But just the same he would refuse. You know how proud all the Wilkes are."

"Oh, dear!" cried Melanie miserably, "I wish-- Really, Captain Butler, I couldn't deceive my husband."

"Not even to help Scarlett?" Rhett looked very hurt. "And she is so fond of you!"

She was on the verge of tears, he knew for certain that he was using the best tactic.

"You know I'd do anything in the world for her. I can never, never half repay her for what she's done for me. You know." Melanie was weakening at his thinking.

"Yes," he said shortly, "I know what she's done for you. Couldn't you tell Mr. Wilkes that the money was left you in the will of some relative?" He was pleading now, begging her to take the money, hoping that this might keep Scarlett safe from herself.

"Oh, Captain Butler, I haven't a relative with a penny to bless him!" Melanie's response was spoken softly, as if she were ashamed of the fact, tired of always being poor.

"Then, if I sent the money through the mail to Mr. Wilkes without his knowing who sent it, would you see that it was used to buy the mills and not--well, given away to destitute ex-Confederates?" He offered logically, appealing to what he knew would work for the both of them.

"Of course I will." She agreed.

"So it's settled? It's to be our secret?" He added conspiratorially.

"But I have never kept anything secret from my husband!" She seemed bewildered at the thought of the lie.

"I'm sure of that, Miss Melly." He knew that lying was going to difficult, but he was certain that Scarlett's life and possibly their marriage depended upon it.

"Scarlett's lucky to have a husband who's so nice to her!"

"You think so? I'm afraid she wouldn't agree with you, if she could hear you. Besides, I want to be nice to you too, Miss Melly. I'm giving you more than I'm giving Scarlett." He chuckled at this, no definitely this would not be what crossed Scarlett's mind.

"Me!" she questioned, puzzled. "Oh, you mean for Beau."

He picked up his hat and rose. He stood for a moment looking down at the plain, heart-shaped face with its long widow's peak and serious dark eyes. Such an unworldly face, a face with no defenses

against life. "No, not Beau. I'm trying to give you something more than Beau, if you can imagine that."

"No, I can't," she said, bewildered again. "There's nothing in the world more precious to me than Beau except Ash--except Mr. Wilkes."

Rhett said nothing and looked down at her, his dark face still.

"You're mighty nice to want to do things for me, Captain Butler, but really, I'm so lucky. I have everything in the world any woman could want."

"That's fine," said Rhett, suddenly grim. "And I intend to see that you keep them."

He turned and walked out the door, leaving Melanie confused as to his words. She couldn't understand of treachery and betrayal, and he wanted to protect her from it as well. And now, that this matter was settled, he had time to devote everything to precious baby girl. He grinned as he thought of the days that they could share together. He wanted to be able to cherish every moment with her and shower her with all of his attention. She at very least deserved that.


	13. Bonnie Days are Here

Author's Note: Very much fluff, very much how I can see interaction taking place between Rhett and Bonnie. A happy sweet chapter, hope that you all enjoy... and I just have to say since I am going by the book, please enjoy the happiness while its here. I can't promise too much more, we all have read the book and know what's to come, but I eventually will go back to the beginning and try to catch the majority of the book, if not all. Have a great Labor Day weekend.

"Daddy, more tea?' Bonnie chirped, finding nothing unusual about her very tall father crouching under a table having tea with her.

"Of course I would. You make such wonderful tea." He complimented her as he pinched the fragile porcelain between his large, calloused fingers.

Bonnie grinned and pretended to pour more tea for her kitten and her doll. The kitten dipped its little furry paw into the liquid and then licked at it hesitantly.

"Does mother like her tea?" Rhett asked, referring to Bonnie's favorite doll that the child had named after her mother because it had green eyes and black hair.

"Yummy!" Bonnie cooed.

"Mista Rhett!" a voice called from the doorway.

Rhett jerked at the sound, so completely had he been wrapped up into Bonnie's game that he had been oblivious to the outside world. "Yes, Mammy?" He called back as he crawled from under the table.

Mammy couldn't help but smile when it was so obvious that he thought the world of his little daughter. "Miss Scahlett, done sint you a telegram. I'se got it right heah." She said.

Rhett took the missive from her as Bonnie dragged the kitten with her as she climbed out from under the table as well. "Daddy, is that mother?" She quizzed him with a sparkle in her eyes. "I miss mother," she told him. "Kitty does too."

Rhett smiled down at her, then quickly bent and scooped her into his arms, but leaving the unhappy kitten behind. "Yes, this is from your mother, and she is feeling much better. I told you that she would be better soon."

Bonnie reached forward and squished his cheek together. "I can't talk like this, when you do that," he said through a pinched face. She giggled and softly sighed, I love who, daddy."

Rhett grabbed her waist and turned her upside down, and she squealed and giggled as he twisted her first one way and then the next. She laughed until she was out of breath and tears were running down both of their faces.

"Daddy, let's shop!" Bonnie demanded from her father. Rhett grinned and called for Mammy to come prepare Bonnie for the excursion. Her face was smudged with the chocolate that was on the cookies she had been eating, and cookies crumbs had covered her dress before they had played.

With Scarlett away, they had fallen into a routine that was very much Rhett and Bonnie. Rhett would only go to work during Bonnie's nap time, and they would spend the rest of the day together playing various things together. Some days Rhett took her for a ride on his horse, and other days they would stay in the house coming up with whatever whim appeared. One day Bonnie had convinced her father to build tents and pretend to be soldiers, but that hadn't lasted because soon Bonnie wanted to pretend that her daddy was her baby.

And Rhett loved all of the time that he could spend with his perfect daughter. It was an easy companionship, and they loved each other completely. In each other's eyes, they could do no wrong. The entire town was mesmerized by the affection that was obvious between the two.

"Buy mother a pwensent." Bonnie said as her eyelashes fluttered in a very convincing imitation of her mother.

Rhett laughed., "Whatever you ask for darling, it will be yours."

And so they set off down the street, riding in contented silence until they were downtown. The first store they entered was crammed full of every toy imaginable. But immediately Bonnie spotted what she wanted. High upon the shelf sat a bride and groom doll set. The bride had dark hair in an elaborate coiffure, and the groom doll was equally handsome. So Rhett of course immediately scooped up Bonnie's prizes and purchased them for her. "You did say that this was for your mother, right?" He asked in amusement, thinking of what Scarlett's reaction would be if she opened a gift and found theses. Her expression might be worth the cost of the dolls, even if they didn't end up as Bonnie's prizes.

Bonnie's head bounced up and down as vigorously nodded her consent. Her shining curls bounced with each nod, as her eyes sparkled vibrantly.

After Rhett had paid, Bonnie called out, "New store. Let's shop!"

Rhett chuckled again. He knew where she had learned to shop. She was definitely her mother's child. She clutched his hand as she led him down the street. "Sparkly!" she squealed in front of a jewelry store. "Daddy! Here!"

She tugged on his hand and so they venture inside. Bonnie's little face was pressed against the glass cases as she stared intently at each jewel. Oh she was very much her mother's child. It only took something very expensive and sparkling to entertain her. Then she gasped, "Daddy! Look! For mother!"

Her small fingers greedily slapped against the glass as she pointed at the sparkling green gem. Her breath caught in her throat as she starred at it, obviously completely enraptured by it.

Rhett smiled. It was just the thing Scarlett would love. And he would buy it, simply because Bonnie wanted him to. Maybe Bonnie could give to Scarlett, because he couldn't He couldn't lavish her with gifts like he once had. He needed to act as if they were little more than strangers. She needed him to keep his distance. But that wouldn't stop him from lavishing Bonnie with whatever she wanted. And she was right it was perfect.

Later that evening, after they had eaten together, Rhett and Bonnie lay together on her small bed. She snuggled against his chest as he tirelessly read her story after story. He found contentment here for the moment with his daughter tight against his chest, but he still wished that he would be allowed to love her mother as much as he did. He wished he could show her, but no. The could only be strangers living in the same house.

It was the only way to survive.


	14. The Return of the Queen

And it was in these long lazy days filled with giggles and childish squeals of laughter, that Rhett and Bonnie passed the summer away without Scarlett. The time they spent together further cemented their bond as unbreakable. But the season was ending, and soon a chill would permeate the air. And Scarlett was returning home. Her telegram made no mention of her health, just giving Rhett the time and date of her arrival.

But Scarlett's return was not going to disrupt his time with Bonnie. And so when Bonnie begged to play Indians, Rhett could do nothing but comply, despite the fact that it would be soon time to go get Scarlett and the children from the station. And so he placed turkey feathers in the brim of his hat, while Bonnie streaked indigo blue paint on her face and placed a peacock feather in her black curls that seemed ready to drag the floor at any moment.. She darted back and forth across the nursery as she pretended to attack her father. But then Rhett would capture in his arms and tickle her until tears streamed down her face. "Daddy!" she would squeal, and then Rhett would release her and the game would resume. Finally Bonnie decided that her daddy should be her horse, and so she perched on his back as he crawled around the room on all fours. But then Mammy waddled into the room, "Mistah Rhett, I spect its getting time fo' you to ta go get Miss Scharlett from the train station."

Bonnie climbed off of his back as he rose up and pulled his pocket watch from his coat. "Thank you, mammy. It is indeed time," He said with a cautious smile. "Bonnie, let Mammy wash your face."

Bonnie turned to him with a toss of her dark curls. "No, daddy. Want mother to see." Her face was twisted into an impish grin that she knew her father could not resist.

"Well at least you need to change into another dress." Rhett commanded half-heartedly.

"No!" She squealed. "My dress! My dress!"

Mammy looked at Rhett for a moment, considering whether he would allow her to give Bonnie a firmer hand, but one look at Rhett face answered the question. Bonnie would get her way. "Fine, if you really want to see your mother in a torn dress, with a dirty face."

She nodded, her eyes sparkling brilliantly.

He laughed. "O,h well. It can't hurt anything. You're happy. That's all that really matters anyway."

Mammy glowered at both him and the child. No child she had taken care of had ever been seen in public in such a disgraceful state. "Miss Bohnie, you'se let Mammy wash yo pritty lil' face now. I know'se yo mama, wants you to look lak a lil' lady, not some injun."

Bonnie shook her head violently from side to side. "No!"

Rhett looked sheepish, but they needed to leave now if they were going to meet the train.

"Cap'n Butler, it is aint fittin, fo her to go 'die lak dat. She is a lady. She needs to ac lak a lady." Mammy added.

Oh, Mammy. It can't hurt a thing. She's still the cutest thing ever. And everyone loves her. I'm sure they will forgive us for this breech."

"Go get mother!" Bonnie cried excitedly. "Wade! Ewwa!" She screeched happily as she clapped her small hands.

And Rhett nodded obligingly and scooped her up into his arms. "Let's go get them, sweetheart!" Did you miss playing with Ella?" He tenderly kissed her curls as she snuggled against him.

Bonnie chattered excitedly as they rode towards the train station, while Mammy sat unhappily watching the child's dirty face and ruined frock. Frequently, the carriage would stop as Bonnie called out sweetly to the people on the street. She was happy, and she liked people.

The station was crowded when they arrived. The train from Jonosboro had just pulled into the station. And Rhett, Mammy, and Bonnie were waiting when Wade, then Ella, and then finally Scarlett stepped onto the platform. Before Scarlett appeared Ella and Wade had run into his arms. Ella's mouth showed that she had lost a tooth, and she grinned at him, proud of herself. Rhett couldn't help but return the grin. She wasn't as pretty as Bonnie, but she was cute and had outgrown her ugly baby phase.

Wade was more reserved to Rhett, but he immediately dropped to his knees to hug his baby sister. He kissed her cheek avoiding the blue streak, and patted her hair. And Bonnie was just as excited to see him.

But then Scarlett was beside them. Bonnie was running into her mother's arms, and Scarlett hugged her and allowed the child to kiss her cheek. And then her green eyes turned up to his. It was a moment Rhett had been dreading. He still wanted to hold her, but he couldn't. It was a relief to see that color had returned to her cheeks. She seemed alive again; Tara had once again spun its magic. She laughed when she saw them, but of course he still had feathers in his hat, and Bonnie was still obviously ready to return to her abandoned game. Of course there was a moment when Scarlett stared at Bonnie's messy state. She had looked up at him in disbelief, and he had offered a look of helplessness, surprised that Scarlett was even noticing the child. She then looked at Mammy whose expression of lowering indignation showed her displeasure at the state of the child.

"What a ragamuffin!" Scarlett offered as she kissed Bonnie again, placing the kiss on her forehead to avoid her paint stained cheek.. Then she turned a cheek for Rhett's lips. There were crowds of people in the depot, and she was trying to make a good impression. If it wasn't for the crowds he would have refused. It was harder to stop himself from thinking about her when his lips had recently come in contact with her Magnolia skin. He quickly pulled away from her, not wanting to allow the contact to linger any longer than necessary. The three children were caught up in each other, but Rhett surveryed the crowd, noticing the approving eyes of Atlanta as they watched him with his daughter. He was quickly coming into their graces. And his child would be a welcomed member of society. Even dressed as she was, she was still adored by all.

They headed towards the carriage, Rhett's arms full of Bonnie. Conveniently preventing him from having to take Scarlett's hand, which was now occupied with Ella's small hand. Prissy stayed behind them, meandering her way. Finally, they reached the carriage, and Rhett helped Bonnie, then Ella, and Scarlett into the carriage. Even through her dress, he could feel the warmth of her skin. He quickly retracted his hand, almost as if contact with her burned him. It did seem to burn, and he couldn't allow this fire to over take him. His heart couldn't afford it. Then following Wade, he joined his family inside the carriage. Mammy and Prissy sat up front with the driver, leaving the family alone in their reunion.

Scarlett chattered happily, telling him tales of the county, and of people that he knew little of. Some of them he had met that day at Twelve Oaks, but others he only knew from Scarlett's stories. She spoke of the cotton crop that was thriving, but there was a possibility of a low price on the crop. Suellen was with child again, although she was careful so only Rhett understood. She was so much more tempting this way. For a moment, she seemed so happy and full of life, that he could forget about the war and the hardships. Maybe there was some hope... maybe with Bonnie, he didn't have a choice but to hope.

She prattled on about her various neighbors, The Tarletons, Fontaines, something about Negros buying one of the old Plantations. Amusingly, Ella had bitten one of Suellen's children. Wade had killed a water moccasin, all by himself. She chattered on cheerfully, but there were many things he was certain that she was hiding something. Not that she was trying to hide it from him, but it seemed as if she were even trying to hide something from herself. But he could see it in her eyes, the county wasn't the same place she had lived during her early years. Despite the brightness of her tone, she still hadn't come to gripes with the devastation that the war had wrought upon them all, and perhaps she never would. And he watched as she paused and gazed out the carriage windows, and he had to wonder what she was thinking.

"Has anything happened here?" she asked when they were finally home and were seated on the front porch. She had talked rapidly and continuously all the way home, he was thankful for her chatter. It prevented him from having to find the right words to apologize for his behavior. They had barely spoken since that day she had fallen down the stairs, nothing more than the simplest words and the small argument that they had had concerning her going to Tara. And he could see that she was anxious about the prospect of being alone with him.

He didn't know what to say to her, didn't know what she was feeling. A part of him wanted to apologize for more than just saying that he shouldn't have said what he had said. A part of him longed to taker her into his arms, and tell her finally how sorry he was about the baby. But maybe she wasn't sorry. Maybe she was glad that it was gone. She didn't want any part of him. And so he carefully maintained his aloof, careful mask. And so he would be pleasant to her, as it nothing had ever happened between them. He had to stay aloof, he couldn't risk his heart on her again.

"Is everything all right?" She paused, "Is everything all right? Did you get the new shingles for the store? Did you swap the mules? For Heaven's sake, Rhett, take those feathers out of your hat. You look a fool and you'll be likely to wear them downtown without remembering to take them out." Rhett turned to her, aware that he had only partially been listening to her, too deep in thought to notice much.

"No," said Bonnie, picking up his hat, defensively. Her blue eyes sparkled with anger as she clutched his hat to her chest. Rhett smiled indulgently at her, as she pulled one of the feathers out of his hat.

"Everything has gone very well here," replied Rhett. "Bonnie and I have had a nice time and I don't believe her hair has been combed since you left." He paused to glance at the child, who had a tip of the feather in mouth. "Don't suck the feathers, darling, they may be nasty." Then he turned back to Scarlett, and resumed the answering of her question in a flat impersonal voice. "Yes, the shingles are fixed and I got a good trade on the mules. No, there's really no news. Everything has been quite dull."

Then, as he decided that now was the time to make Scarlett give up the mills, he added: " The honorable Ashley was over here last night. He wanted to know if I thought you would sell him your mill and the part interest you have in his."

Scarlett, who had been rocking and fanning herself with a turkey tail fan, stopped abruptly.

"Sell? Where on earth did Ashley get the money? You know they never have a cent. Melanie spends it as fast as he makes it." She questioned derisively.

Inwardly Rhett cringed, it wasn't so much Melanie, as Ashley's ineptitude and inability to turn away anyone in need who claimed to have been a Conferedate. But he shrugged. "I always thought her a frugal little person, but then I'm not as well informed about the intimate details of the Wilkes family as you seem to be." For a moment, it felt good to jab at her like he always had before. And he could see that he had annoyed her. She was truly back in good health.

The color, the flush of anger rising to her cheeks as she told Bonnie, "Run away, dear. Mother wants to talk to Father."

"No," said Bonnie positively and climbed upon Rhett's lap, firmly planting herself where she knew her mother wouldn't dare take her from, where her father would insure that she got her way.

Scarlett frowned at Bonnie, who scowled right back, and for a moment it seemed that Scarlett would laugh at the child's disobedience.

"Let her stay," said Rhett comfortably. "As to where he got the money, it seems it was sent him by someone he nursed through a case of smallpox at Rock Island. It renews my faith in human nature to know that gratitude still exists."

"Who was it? Anyone we know?"

"The letter was unsigned and came from Washington. Ashley was at a loss to know who could have sent it. But then, one of Ashley's unselfish temperament goes about the world doing so many good deeds that you can't expect him to remember all of them." He hated extolling virtues that Ashley Wilkes did not possess. The man was nothing in his mind. The only reason Ashely would benefit was for Melanie's sake and for Scarlett's health. If there had been anyway to avoid helping Ashely, he would have gladly taken that route instead.

"He wants to buy me out?" He could see she was surprised by the offer, but see was also trying to keep her temper in check, something she had never before succeeded at.

"Yes. But of course, I told him you wouldn't sell." It would be easiest if she thought that he didn't want her to sell, if for a moment she considered that he was behind it, she would never agree.

"I wish you'd let me mind my own business." She said, with a pout rising to her lips.

"Well, you know you wouldn't part with the mills. I told him that he knew as well as I did that you couldn't bear not to have your finger in everybody's pie, and if you sold out to him, then you wouldn't be able to tell him how to mind his own business." It was still so simple to push her buttons, so easy to know exactly what he needed to say to get the outcome that he wanted.

"You dared say that to him about me?" Her eyes sparkled with fire.

"Why not? It's true, isn't it? I believe he heartily agreed with me but, of course, he was too much of a gentleman to come right out and say so." Rhett was amused as he watched Scarlett's anger continue to rise up. He was in luck that she still didn't know how to push his buttons.

"It's a lie! I will sell them to him!" cried Scarlett angrily.

He watched in amusement as the thoughts danced through her mind. She didn't want to sell. They were proof of how hard she had worked to rescue those she loved. But he could also see the determination in her face, if he didn't want her to sell then she would, if for no other reason than to prove him wrong. Then he was distracted as Bonnie squirmed down and tapped on his hand.

"I will sell!" she cried furiously. "Now, what do you think of that?"

He knew that he was triumphant, even as he bent to tie Bonnie's shoe lace. "I think you'll regret it," he said.

He could see the regret already in her eyes. If she had been speaking to anyone else, she would have made a hasty retraction. But she couldn't, not to him. She frowned as if realizing that he had forced her exactly where he wanted her. He couldn't help himself, as he burst into laughter.

"Did you have anything to do with this?" she snapped.

"I?" His brows went up in mock surprise. "You should know me better. I never go about the world doing good deeds if I can avoid it."

The hard part was over. Now Scarlett would have no choice but to slow down and be a mother to her children. She had no other choice


	15. Someone Else's Pie

That night Rhett and Scarlett arrived at the Wilkes house to find Melanie calm, and Ashley as nervous as a cat. He knew that she didn't want to be there. And he could see that Ashley didn't want either of them in his home. Ashley, ever being the gentleman that he was bred to be, refused to take advantage of her first lowest offer, instead he insisted on meeting the highest bid that she had ever been offered for them. And it was money well spent in Rhett's opinion. Finally, Scarlett had no excuse to venture out to the mills to see Ashley. Now she only had the store to occupy her time. That would have to be enough for her.

He watched her face as she signed the papers, forever removing the mills from her control. She was bereft. She had lost something of immeasurable value to her. But Rhett was confident that it was for her own good, and did not feel the slightest twinge of guilt at his deception. It was obvious that Ashley suspected nothing, even though he was certain that Scarlett did. She was too devious in her own right to not be aware of the deception that he and Melanie were guilty of. But nor would she say anything, because then she would have to admit to being defensive or a bad person. Which he knew that she would not do.

He thought back to the day that she had come to him in the jail cell, offering herself, willing to sell her body to save her family and her home. He had known that she was desperate and terrified or she wouldn't have been there. He should have found a way to help her then, he should have done whatever it took. At the time he hadn't even really grasped how terrified she was, or how much she had gone through. But instead he had turned her away, and she had run into Frank. And Frank had a store. And Frank had enough money to pay the taxes. And Rhett had lost his chance.

And then there was that day, the first time he had seen her after she married that old man. He had ventured into Frank's store, knowing that she was there, knowing that he had missed his chance. She could have been his. He could have married her, and had her for himself. And she wouldn't have struggled as she did.

She had been so terrified, the hungry look had not disappeared from her eyes. She was still too thin, but she was like iron, and she refused to be bent over by her circumstances. She had been so brave, and he had longed to protect her and shelter her. She was so driven to provide and insure that her family would not go hungry that she continued to drive to the mills even after her pregnancy with Ella became obvious. Her pregnancy had driven him wild. He wanted the child she was carrying to be his. He remembered riding with her, holding the reins for her, watching as grew fatigued. How he longed for her to be his. It was a good thing that she and Frank had not been married any longer than they had, or he might have had to kill Frank himself.

But the mills, the mills were her pride and joy, and he knew it. He knew how much she felt that this loss was costing her. Forever today she was closing this door on that chapter in her life. And he knew that she was probably afraid that Ashley would run them into the ground. And truthfully, he most likely would. And he also knew that it was because he had told her that she liked to boss everything.

Rhett smiled as he watched her, her face seemed more and more convicted on something, possibly that her loss of the mills had been his doing.

"I suppose you'll turn the convicts back right away," he said to Ashley.

He knew the thoughts running through her head. "Turn the convicts back? Why should there be any idea of turning them back? A majority of profits from the mills grew out of the cheap convict labor."

"Yes, they'll go back immediately," replied Ashley, refusing to look at Scarlett.

"Have you lost your mind?" she cried. "You'll lose all the money on the lease and what kind of labor can you get, anyway?" Rhett smiled at her indignant tone, he knew that her feathers were quite ruffled at the moment.

"I'll use free darkies," said Ashley.

She seemed appalled at the idea as if already he was ruining all of her hard work. As if he were personally insulting her and not the use of the convicts. "Free darkies! Fiddle-dee-dee! You know what their wages will cost and besides you'll have the Yankees on your neck every minute to see if you're giving them chicken three times a day and tucking them to sleep under eiderdown quilts. And if you give a lazy darky a couple of licks to speed him up, you'll hear the Yankees scream from here to Dalton and you'll end up in jail. Why, convicts are the only--"

Melanie looked down into her lap at her twisted hands. Ashley looked unhappy but he was silent. Then his gaze crossed Rhett's. Rhett offered him understanding and encouragement in his look, trying to keep the man on task. He also knew that the look between them would not be lost on Scarlett.

"I won't work convicts, Scarlett," Ashley said quietly.

"Well, sir!" her breath was taken away. She was definitely offended by his decision. "And why not? Are you afraid people will talk about you like they do about me?"

He raised his head. "I'm not afraid of what people say as long as I'm right. And I have never felt that convict labor was right."

"But why--" She sputtered, her pride was taking a beating, couldn't she see that she and Ashley were so far apart that they couldn't even understand each other. Didn't she know that Ashley wasn't driven to provide for his family, that he wated little more than to just give up and lay down.

"I can't make money from the enforced labor and misery of others." he cried out, defending his decision.

"But you owned slaves!" Rhett could see that the reasoning made no sense to her, that he might as well be speaking in a foreign language.

Ashley looked defensive, "They weren't miserable. And besides, I'd have freed them all when Father died if the war hadn't already freed them. But this is different, Scarlett. The system is open to too many abuses. Perhaps you don't know it but I do. I know very well that Johnnie Gallegher has killed at least one man at his camp. Maybe more—who cares about one convict, more or less? He said the man was killed trying to escape, but that's not what I've heard elsewhere. And I know he works men who are too sick to work. Call it superstition, but I do not believe that happiness can come from money made from the sufferings of others."

Rhett doubted Ashely's lofty words . O very well, he may have thought about releasing them, but Ashley was man of ideals, and not of action. And it would have taken action, geat action to do what he spoke of. And Ashley Wilkes was as cowardly that they came.

Her eyes sparkled angrily. "God's nightgown! You mean--goodness, Ashley, you didn't swallow all the Reverend Wallace's bellowings about tainted money?" Rhett smiled inwardly at the comment, knowing full well that both he and Scarlett knew that if any money was tainted than theirs was. He could choose to take offense, but instead he allowed Scarlett to continue in her puffed up pride. Her precious Ashley was digging his own grave in her eyes. And Rhett didn't need to do anything, Ashley was digging it fast enough himself.

"I didn't have to swallow it. I believed it long before he preached on it." Ashley claimed.

"Then, you must think all my money is tainted," cried Scarlett, her anger was growing, and everyone at the table knew it. "Because I worked convicts and own saloon property and--" She stopped short. Both the Wilkes looked embarrassed and Rhett was grinning broadly. She was doing exactly what he had claimed that she thrived on doing. She was sticking her finger in other people's pies, yet again. Rhett looked at Ashley, knowing that he was thinking similar thoughts. She was angry at the both of them for it. He watched as she tried to contain her anger and tried to assume and aloof air of dignity, but she wasn't successful. She was far too easy to read. And it seemed sweet vengeance for him that she so willingly proved his point so completely. "Of course, it's immaterial to me," she finally said sounding more like a pouting child who wasn't allowed their way. Rhett chuckled inwardly, in fact Bonnie had sounded that was just this morning when he had told her that she had to get dressed.

Ashley immediately began back stepping trying to placate her wounded pride, "Scarlett, don't think I'm criticizing you! I'm not. It's just that we look at things in different ways and what is good for you might not be good for me."

Rhett could see it in her eyes. She simply didn't understand him. He preplexed her, and she had never been able to understand him. She had understood her other Beaus, they had at one time been her friends and confidants, but not Ashley. His mind did not work in ways that she could fathom. She couldn't see things the way that he did. He had no conception of fears that she was only beginning to master. He lacked the survival instinct that she so ballantly possessed. She wanted to understand him, but his thinking was so far removed from her own that it was an impossibility.

Melanie was trembling with the distress of the scene, her eyes were troubled, hating discord as she did. But Rhett stared at Scarlett, a grin plastered on his face, daring her to be anything but accepting of the situation, knowing he was the one at the table holding all of the cards.

Finally Scarlett stiffly told him, "I'm sure it's your own business, Ashley, and far be it from me to tell you how to run it. But, I must say, I do not understand your attitude or your remarks."

these words did not make Ashely happy, it was obvious to everyone in the room. It went against his breeding to insult her in such a manner. "I've offended you, Scarlett, and I did not mean to. You must believe me and forgive me. There is nothing enigmatic in what I said. It is only that I believe that money which comes in certain ways seldom brings happiness."

Rhett smirked as he watched the exchange between the two. This was the antithesis of all that Scarlett believed, and he knew that she couldn't restrain her self from crying out, "But you're wrong! Look at me! You know how my money came. You know how things were before I made my money! You remember that winter at Tara when it was so cold and we were cutting up the carpets for shoes and there wasn't enough to eat and we used to wonder how we were going to give Beau and Wade an education. You remem--"

"I remember," said Ashley tiredly, "but I'd rather forget."

That disgusted Rhett. Scarlett was trying desperately to make them understand why she had turned into the person that she was. But Ashley was still avoiding reality. And if it wasn't for Scarlett's determination to pull them all through, Ashley would still be there out in the cold, half-starving. Rhett hid his grin with his hand, thankful that Scarlett was the woman that she was. He was proud of her.

"Well, you can't say any of us were happy then, can you? And look at us now! You've a nice home and a good future. And has anyone a prettier house than mine or nicer clothes or finer horses? Nobody sets as fine a table as me or gives nicer receptions and my children have everything they want. Well, how did I get the money to make it possible? Off trees? No, sir! Convicts and saloon rentals and--"

Rhett considered her vanity, also taking pride in the fact that he had been able to give her what she wanted. He had rescued her from the days of lack and want, if only he had been able to protect her from that time of desperation. He wished that he could turn back the clock and keep her from all of the responsibilities that she had carried. And maybe... maybe she would still be the naive country girl who loved to flirt and dance and go to parties. What he wouldn't give to avoid having her hardened as she had been, what he wouldn't give to go back and change all of it.

"And don't forget murdering that Yankee," said Rhett softly. "He really gave you your start." Pride glowed in his eyes; she was survivor. She might think it was an insult, but to him it was the highest praise. No one was going to destroy her. She would never be one to give up and roll over. She would fight for those she loved until the day she died. Thats who she was.

Scarlett turned to him, furious words on her lips.

"And the money has made you very, very happy, hasn't it, darling?"

he asked, poisonously sweet, knowing full well that money hadn't made her happy. Knowing that nothing could really make her happy. She was still to hardened from life to ever truly be happy. She wouldn't allow herself to be happy, even though she didn't seem to realize it.

Rhett watched as Scarlett stopped short, her mouth open, and her eyes swiftly moving to the eyes of the other three. Melanie was almost crying with embarrassment, Ashley was suddenly bleak and withdrawn and Rhett was watching her over his cigar with impersonal amusement. She wanted to cry out to defend herself, he could see that clearly, she almost started to cry out something, to try and claim that money had indeed made her happy, but no words came out. And she shut her jaw in obvious frustration.

He wondered if she was thinking that she had married him for his money, but she was not happy. This marriage had not brought her happiness. Nor had living in a marriage such as this made him happy. He wanted all of her. He wanted her love. He wanted her mind and her spirit to be his, not Ashley's. He wanted all of her, but perhaps there parts of her that were lost forever. She would never again he the girl he loved at first sight. But he still had to admire her for her passion and courage, no matter what the odds were.

"But, Scarlett, darling, you didn't always feel this way. Before the war, even during the war while you were here in Atlanta, you never even thought about things like this, as long as you were taken care of. You were happy then Scarlett." Melanie offered kindly, trying to soothe things between the four of them.

Scarlett started to speak, but Melanie raised her hand. "O Scarlett, I know that you missed Charlie, but you had fun at the parties. I know you did. It was that time at Tara that terrified you into thinking that if you had enough money that you would be happy again. But Scarlett, it simply isn't true. Ashley, and I didn't have much money, but I am happy. And darling, I want you to be happy as well."

Melanie rose from her seat and came to Scarlett's side, trying to offer her solace. Scarlett stiffly accepted the embrace, rejecting Melanie's words.

And so they departed from the Wilkes' home with swift farewell, and rode home in silence as Rhett pondered the situation between the two of them.

Maybe he had made a mistake.

Maybe he shouldn't have married her. He had been so certain that he could make her love him, that he could undo the damage that the war had done to her soul. And maybe Melanie was right. She had changed so greatly from that moment he left her at rough and ready to the point when he saw her in her mother's drapes standing in the jail offering to become his mistress. Maybe he hadn't understood how great her suffering had truly been. But he couldn't lie to himself. Scarlett would never love him, and now he was only holding on to their marriage for Bonnie's sake. She was the only hope left in his dark existence.

He watched Scarlett as she stared out the window, he couldn't make her love him. And he didn't know what else he could do.


	16. Scalawag, No More

**Author's Note: I have some later chapters done, and fair warning ahead, you might want some tissues to read them. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, and for everyone that had been reading. Hope that you enjoy this. And as always I own nothing, and I do borrow from the original for the quotes that already exist in the original.**

Scalawag, No More

With Scarlett back from Tara, and without the responsibility of the mills, she spent much more time at home. She did still make her trips to the store to harass the clerks as she was known to do. She liked to micro manage everything, and without the mills she was free to have her finger on every decision that came across the counter. But aside from the store, she generally sequestered herself in her office, which made it possible for Rhett to avoid her. He was home more too. He focused her attention on the mundane things, such as being kinder to the servants. He poured out his love into Bonnie, although sparing more attention that he had been for Wade and Ella. He worked hard on maintaining a pleasant atmosphere, removing all of his passion from the equation.

Wade and Ella were still afraid of Scarlett, although she seemed much more subdued since her return. She rarely lost her temper, and she was frequently distracted. He knew that there was a piece of the puzzle missing, but he couldn't risk getting close enough to her to figure it out. They acted like a family, but they were not one. They spent many of their evenings dining together, all five of them.

But it was an impersonal and forced kindness that he offered. He could not suppress his fear that if he and Scarlett continued in their passion-filled patterns that one of them would end up dead. He was afraid of what would happen to himself if he bored that blood on his hands.

He could see in her eyes, that his kindness was disconcerting to her. She had a strange longing in her eyes, as if she missed the days when he threw thinly veiled barbs at her, that she missed his caring mocking moments. But a piece of himself had died that day when she fell, he knew of no way to revive it. And so he focused on the children, taking them out for carriage rides or downtown to buy news toys. Ofterwise he would spend the afternoons in the nursery regaling the children with carefully edited tales of his life. Or Bonnie would charmingly demand that her father read her fairy tales.

Ella and Wade never demanded. They took the attention the he gave them, but they never asked for more. He thought that perhaps they were too thankful for the attention that he gave them, that they were afraid if they demanded any more that he would give them none instead.

Ella was especially timid, such a contrast to Bonnie's vivacious chattering. She was a nervous child and had several bad habits that Scarlett had never taken the time to correct. She had a hard time meeting any adult's eyes, and she continuously twisted her hair.

And although he was attentive to them, he could not shower them with the affection that he poured upon Bonnie. He had been Ella's father officially before she was steadily walking, but it seemed to stand out to him that Ella, for all of the time that he had spent with her, was not his child. And Ella never would really be his child. She didn't belong to him, and neither did Wade.

Wade was a calm natured child, although he had nightmares of the siege that plagued him. He didn't even really seem to know quite where these images came from, but from the descriptions he gave, Rhett couldn't help but recognize the scenes from his own memory. Very rarely would Wade let down his defenses enough to speak any of his fears, but on one occasion, Wade described in ghastly detail, what he remembered on that long ago night when they had fled Atlanta. He had only been two and a half at the time, but he remembered it clearly.

This made Rhett protect Bonnie all the more, she was now at the same age that Wade had been back then. He wouldn't allow Scarlett to be harsh with Bonnie, because he he couldn't stand the thought of his child remembering his mother as slapping her or being short with her as he knew that at times Scarlett had been with the other children. He was going to protect her from everything.

He missed the bickering. He longed to tease her again. He wished that he was able to care. He wished that there was a way that he could go back in time and correct some of his mistakes, but he couldn't. He pulled away from her, treating as politely as he would a stranger. His eyes occasionally followed her, but only when he knew that she was unaware of it. For the most part, his eyes followed Bonnie instead. He was prepared to indulge her every need and desire. If she had asked for the moon, he would have moved heaven and earth to reach it for her. And Scarlett was jealous of the way he paid attention to Bonnie. That angered him, but he masked that emotion as well. He could only treat her with indifferent courteousness.

All of his passion and attention was focused on the shoulders of one small little girl with brilliant blue eyes and bouncing dark curls. There was so much attention and tenderness focused upon her that it bordered on obsession. She was his idol, his sole purpose in life was to cater to her whim and make her as happy as was humanly possible. Bonnie took up the entire space of his heart, filing it to overflowing. And he also knew that Bonnie loved him more than she loved anyone else.

Scarlett thought of Bonnie as her favorite child, and Rhett was distinctly aware of the fact. But Scarlett was too practical minded when it came to children. She ensured that their basic needs were met, but she was incapable of giving them the attention and love that they craved. She was the disciplinarian, enabling him to be the doting parent. Besides those basic needs, Scarlett was an inattentive parent.

She paid scant attention to Wade and Ella, for she had little patience for dealing with their questions and insecurities. She was sharp and snappish any time that Wade had tried to come to her for help with his homework, and so Rhett took responsibilities on himself. Scarlett preferred to see the children at meal times and playing quietly, but she was generally too busy with her own matters to do anything more than that.

Rhett devoted himself to being a respectable member of Atlanta's society. The men that had once denounced him publicly became his friends and companions. He began attending the meeting of the Atlanta Democrats, and he would even invite some of the members home with him after the meetings.

One evening, Rhett stood up at one of the meetings, prepared to broach a sensitive subject. "Gentlemen, I would like to bring to discussion something that I think we have shied away from addressing for far too long. I believe that the time has come for us to dismember the Atlanta Klan."

He immediately had all of their undivided attention. All eyes focused on him as he stood, carefully dressed in perfectly tailored clothes, his dark eyes calm and resolute. "Most of you remember, I'm sure, that there was a tragic incident here in Atlanta, less than five years ago. We lost some brave, good men, that we shouldn't have lost. And I know that the Klan was only doing what they saw as the only way to correct the problems that had become so troublesome." He was careful to leave the mention of Scarlett out of his speech. He didn't need to cloud the issues with the poor opinion that most of Atlanta had with her.

Many of the men seemed to be opposed to his suggestion, but he could see that strangely his most supportive ally would be none other than Ashley Wilkes. He was nodding his head, his drowsy gray eyes seemed to hold only understanding and agreement. It was strange what odd bedfellows that situations like this could make.

"But these problems are, for the most part, behind us. The streets are safer. The Klan is doing more harm than good for the Cause. We are providing fodder for the Grist mill of Governor Bullock, and as long as we continue, he can convince the Federal government that it is still necessary to leave him in power. I believe that if we stop Klan activities that we have a much greater chance of returning Atlanta to much the same town that it once was. And then Georgia can return to the power of the people of Georgia. We have chance at helping to end the Scalawags reign here. Every incident that involves the Klan, only stirs up the hornet's nest that is our farce of a state government."

"But we can't just let darkies talk to us that way." A voice called out from the crowd.

Several other voices, offered their agreement.

"Gentlemen, I agree that we need to protect our women and children. But we have to take this initiative if we want the changes made that need made. I can only imagine what I would do, if someone were to try to harm my daughter." He paused, letting his gaze travel around the room to meet the eyes of Dr. Meade and Grandpa Merriweather. He looked at Rene Picard, Hugh Elsing, Andy Bonnell, and the Simmons boys. Then finally his eyes met with Uncle Henry's gaze who nodded for him to continue.

"Gentlemen, I would hate to lose any of you, in the same manner that Frank Kennedy was killed. We do not need to lose another man senselessly like Tommy Wellburn was taken. The time for the Scalawag's is nearing an end. And I would like to propose that we lie low so that the Federal government will have no excuse, but leave us alone."

The men looked at him with genuine interest, as he seemed to be respectable now and reformed from his earlier ways. And he too had served the Confederacy, even if it had been for a short time. They were willing to put aside his shadier past for that fact alone. Not everyone was in favor of his suggestion, but his words did deserve the merit of considering them. He was after all one of them.

So he continued. "I still regret that the only cover up that I could come up with on such short notice that night was that those fine gentlemen had been in a whore house, but I would risk my neck again to protect our cities finest citizens."

Grandpa Merriweather and Uncle Henry seemed amused at the memory of that night and the fun that they had had while pretending to be stumbling drunk. "Butler is right." Grandpa Merriweather called out.

"He saved our hides. We owe him our lives. We can trust him." Uncle Henry asserted.

There was a murmuring as various members talked, some opposed and some in favor. And then Ashley rose, his golden hair catching the shine from the lanterns. "I agree with Captain Butler. We need to dis ban the Klan. I was nearly killed that night, as you all recall. And the violence only compels the carpetbaggers to come down on us even harder. We really only have one choice before us gentlemen. We can agree with Capitan Butler, or we can foolishly continue what we are currently doing and propagate the misery we have all been trying to escape. I think that the choice here is clear."

Ashley sat back in his seat, and those who had been opposed grudgingly agreed that they would do as Rhett had suggested. And that was the end of the Klan in Atlanta.

But other nights, Rhett would leave after dinner and come home late. He never came home inebriated, and he frequently brought home friends. They would sit around in Rhett's office or around the Brandy decanter that was perched on the dining room table until late in the night, talking about politics and the war. None of the men that came with him were the sort of men that had frequented the Butler home during the first years of their marriage. There were no Scalawags or Carpetbaggers or the dreaded Republicans. Rhett friends were the most established members of the old guard, and secretly it amused him. He thought of the time during the war that Dr. Meade had published a letter speaking out against the speculators, putting large blame on Rhett's shoulders. Some of these men had expressed at times that hanging was too good for him, but just as he had told Scarlett he would do, he became excepted by them. And now the man came into his house and sat and talked to him as if they had always been friends.

Other times he visited these men at there homes. It was pleasant to be welcomed even though it went against his rebellious nature. But it was these times that insured that Bonnie would be accepted when she got older. Bonnie would not be turned away or thought of as anything less than the Belle of the town when she came of age. He would have done anything to insure her future.

It was an odd sort of existence. He and Scarlett by no means acted as a husband and wife normally act. And he did miss her, but he had to insult himself against her presence. He tried to avoid being alone with her if at all possible, keeping contact distant and impersonal. He distanced himself from her, like someone might do with a loved one that is dying, as if distancing themselves will ease the hurt when they inevitably do depart.

But late one night, much later than normal, he was entering the house and he was surprised to be greeted by Scarlett at the top of the stairs, her wrapper held tightly around her. The gas lights that illuminated the hall, threw shimmers of light that brought out the glistening highlights in her hair. There was fear in her eyes, "what on earth was she doing out here?"

"Rhett, I've got to know! I've got to know if you--if it's the Klan--is that why you stay out so late? Do you belong--" She stammered.

He could see that she was really worried about something. Was she really concerned about something relating to him? Did she care? The thought seemed incredible to him because he knew that the opposite was true, but it still made him smile. What was bothering her so? He had once told her that he would join the Klan if it would give him the respectability that he sought for Bonnie.

"You are way behind the times," he said. "There is no Klan in Atlanta now. Probably not in Georgia. You've been listening to the Klan outrage stories of your Scalawag and Carpetbagger friends." She was obviously thinking of Frank's death. The men that were now his friends were the same men that had been with Frank at his death.

"No Klan? Are you lying to try to soothe me?" Tears seemed to shimmer for a moment in her eyes. This was odd to see her so concerned, of course if he were to die, her reputation as a black widow would be cemented in the minds of everyone in Atlanta.

"My dear, when did I ever try to soothe you?" He paused for a moment, smiling at the thought of when he had soothed her the night that Atlanta fell. She had been so frightened, a terrified child in his arms until he goaded her to anger. "No, there is no Klan now. We decided that it did more harm than good because it just kept the Yankees stirred up and furnished more grist for the slander mill of his excellency, Governor Bullock. He knows he can stay in power just so long as he can convince the Federal government and the Yankee newspapers that Georgia is seething with rebellion and there's a Klansman hiding behind every bush. To keep in power he's been desperately manufacturing Klan outrage stories where none exist, telling of loyal Republicans being hung up by the thumbs and honest darkies lynched for rape. But he's shooting at a nonexistent target and he knows it. Thank you for your apprehensions, but there hasn't been an active Klan since shortly after I stopped being a Scalawag and became an humble Democrat."

The look on her face told him that she was only partially listening as well usually the case when he began talking about something that did not directly concern her. But she had an odd expression on her face, almost as if she was relieved that the Klan wasn't active. Of course the thought could be linked in her mind to her purse strings and that could easily explain her interest. It probably wasn't concern for him, but her fear of being poor bearing down on her.

"Rhett," she asked suddenly, "did you have anything to do with the breaking up of the Klan?"

He gave her a long look and his eyes began to dance. It still amused him that he and Ashley had been the two most supportive of the decision – a most awkward meeting of the minds. But like himself, Ashley had been against the war, he had just gone off to fight from the beginning despite his misgivings. "My love, I did. Ashley Wilkes and I are mainly responsible."

"Ashley--and you?" There was an aura of amazement surrounding her.

"Yes, platitudinously but truly, politics make strange bedfellows. Neither Ashley nor I cared much for each other as bedfellows but-- Ashley never believed in the Klan because he's against violence of any sort. And I never believed in it because it's damned foolishness and not the way to get what we want. It's the one way to keep the Yankees on our necks till Kingdom Come. And between Ashley and me, we convinced the hot heads that watching, waiting and working would get us further than nightshirts and fiery crosses." As much as he had against the man, he wasn't a complete fool.

"You don't mean the boys actually took your advice when you--" Scarlett's eyebrows rose at the notion that he was accepted.

"When I was a speculator? A Scalawag? A consorted with Yankees? " He listed off his many transgressions that she would undoubtedly try to throw in his face. "You forget, Mrs. Butler, that I am now a Democrat in good standing, devoted to my last drop of blood to recovering our beloved state from the hands of her ravishers! My advice was good advice and they took it. My advice in other political matters is equally good. We have a Democratic majority in the legislature now, haven't we? And soon, my love, we will have some of our good Republican friends behind the bars. They are a bit too rapacious these days, a bit too open." It would be amusing to see those pompous windbags right where they deserved to be. They had acted like they were fine and upstanding citizens when they had been pilfering from the state with phony contracts and shady dealings. Rhett never tried to hide his misdeeds. There was no point.

"You'd help put them in jail? Why, they were your friends! They let you in on that railroad-bond business that you made thousands out of!"

Rhett grinned suddenly, his old mocking grin. It amused him to think of it, how he had escaped by pursuing respectability and acceptance for Bonnie. But the facts were also that he was one of those people that knew when to cut ties and to always watch his own back.

"Oh, I bear them no ill will. But I'm on the other side now and if I can assist in any way in putting them where they belong, I'll do it. And how that will rebound to my credit! I know just enough about the inside of some of these deals to be very valuable when the legislature starts digging into them--and that won't be far off, from the way things look now. They're going to investigate the governor, too, and they'll put him in jail if they can. Better tell your good friends the Gelerts and the Hundons to be ready to leave town on a minute's notice, because if they can nab the governor, they'll nab them too." It would be the end of an era, and the return of Georgia rule.

"How you do run on," she observed, acting like he was jesting.

"If he isn't put in jail, at least he won't be reelected. We're going to have a Democratic governor next time, for a change." He told her with honest certainty.

She looked at him dismissively. "And I suppose you'll have something to do with it?" she questioned sarcastically.

He was already several steps ahead of her. "My pet, I will." He assured her. "I am having something to do with it now. That's why I stay out so late at nights. I'm working harder than I ever worked with a shovel in the gold rush, trying to help get the election organized. And--I know this will hurt you, Mrs. Butler, but I am contributing plenty of money to the organization, too. Do you remember telling me, years ago, in Frank's store, that it was dishonest for me to keep the Confederate gold?" He thought as he spoke of that long ago day when he realized that he had missed his chance to have Scarlett for himself. He hadn't realized then how much the war had really changed her. "At last I've come to agree with you and the Confederate gold is being spent to get the Confederates back into power." And the Confederate gold was buying him what he wanted now for his daughter, that most people said was one of those things that could never be bought.

"You're pouring money down a rat hole!" Oh, how Scarlett hated to see any money slip through her fingers, no matter how much money she had. She would never understand the value of anything.

"What! You call the Democratic party a rat hole?" His eyes mocked her and then were quiet, expressionless. "It doesn't matter a damn to me who wins this election. What does matter is that everyone knows I've worked for it and that I've spent money on it. And that'll be remembered in Bonnie's favor in years to come." It was all he would ever do now. Everything was focused on what would be good for her.

Scarlett seemed to relax at his, as if she had been trying to find a less than noble reason for his spending. "I was almost afraid from your pious talk that you'd had a change of heart, but I see you've got no more sincerity about the Democrats than about anything else."

"Not a change of heart at all. Merely a change of hide. You might possibly sponge the spots off a leopard but he'd remain a leopard, just the same." He started to say more, but then he heard Bonnie's voice crying out for him like a little queen. "Daddy!" and he started to slip past Scarlett to answer his darling's summons. He didn't want to let her think that he wasn't coming.

But then Scarlett spoke, "Rhett, wait a minute. There's something else I want to tell you. You must stop taking Bonnie around with you in the afternoons to political meetings. It just doesn't look well. The idea of a little girl at such places! And it makes you look so silly. I never dreamed that you took her until Uncle Henry mentioned it, as though he thought I knew and--"

He swung round on her and his face was hard. Was possibly accusing him of wrong doing for his love and devotion to his daughter? Everything he did was for her benefit. His entire life was centered on her well being. It was riduculous for her to say there was anything wrong with it. "How can you read wrong in a little girl sitting on her father's lap while he talks to friends? You may think it looks silly but it isn't silly. People will remember for years that Bonnie sat on my

lap while I helped run the Republicans out of this state. People will remember for years--" He thought of Bonnie sitting on his lap, while everyone around her was charmed by her beauty. The hardness went out of his face and a malicious light danced in his eyes. "Did you know that when people ask her who she loves best, she says 'Daddy and the Demiquats,' and who she hates most, she says: 'The Scallywags.' People, thank God, remember things like that."

Scarlett's voice rose furiously. "And I suppose you tell her I'm a Scallawag!"

It amused him, because that was exactly what Scarlett was. She was so intent on not being among the powerless that she had sided with the enemy against her own kind. But he didn't have much time to think about his opinion of his wife, for Bonnie called out for him again. Her small voice cried out indignantly, "Daddy!"

And Rhett, still laughing, went down the hall to his daughter. He rushed into the room and knelt over the bed, placing a kiss on her forehead. "What is it darling? What does my sweetheart need?" Her hair was a tangled mess and her cheeks had the softest flush in the lantern light.

Bonnie smiled up at him drowsily. "I woke up Daddy. And you weren't here. And I wanted you to be here. Where were you Daddy?" She was ridiculously perfect, the one thing that he knew that he had done right in the world.

He smiled as he brush her hair away from her face, looking into her sleepy sapphire eyes. "I was talking to your mother. Hush now. Shhhh- shhh. Go to sleep Daddy is here. Daddy has you. And I won't ever let anything hurt you." He promised as he rubbed circles on her palm with his thumb.

Bonnie's eyelids fluttered closed. She always seemed more content when he was at her side. He picked up her hand and gently pressed a kiss to it. And he held it until she went limp with sleep. All was right with the world with his Bonnie sleeping peacefully.


	17. As She Wishes

**Author's Note: I'm sorry that these chapters are a tad long. I've actually cut almost and entire page from this chapter alone. I really am trying to stay faithful to the details in the original. My additions all have some basis in the novel. Thank you everyone who has revewied. Special thanks to desiree and Corrin for listening to me, and reading this and helping me get this right.**

Rhett was not surprised when Governor Bullock resigned and fled from the state. As he had predicted a similar outcome to Scarlett. The legislature was ready to investigate him and move towards impeachment, and he was already up North before he allowed his resignation to be announced. There was litany of crimes that he had committed and was in jeopardy of facing time for them. He had been exceedingly corrupt, misusing public funds and making bogus contracts and deals with his carpetbagger allies. Many of the Republicans had even turned against him. He was probably the most hated man in all of Georgia.

But Rhett was on the winning side now. He had turned against his former associates and business partners. Rhett smiled a sardonic smile, thinking of all of the work that he had done to insure Bonnie's future that now more than ever would someday pay great dividends. People would remember what he had done more than his prior misdeeds.

When it was announced a week after Bullock's flight, Atlanta was wild with excitement and joy. There was celebration in Atlanta unlike anything seen in many years. People laughed and shook hands and kissed and cried. It was as if they were finally able to breathe a long awaited sigh of relief. They were almost out of the woods. Small boys kept setting celebratory bonfires, which kept the fire department occupied fighting the flames. Rhett set outside on the porch with all three of the children. Bonnie had claimed her throne, firmly seated on his lap. Ella sat on one side of him and Wade was on his other.

He wanted them to witness this moment. He wanted them to be able to tell their grandchildren about this moment. They should remember when Reconstruction began to crumble, and the South began to rise like Phoenix once more. And she was rising, Georgia was rising once again. For although the acting Governor was also a Republican, he was not tainted with corruption. And the election was only two months down the road.

He pointed out the fires to the children, and they all watched the people celebrating in the streets. It was the happiest day for the state in any of their lives.

Scarlett stepped out on the front porch, "Rhett, I think its time for the children to come inside."

Wade and Ella looked up at him to see if he would contradict their mother and let them stay. "What does it hurt to let them stay up and see this? I think its good for them to have memory of this day." He told her firmly.

"Rhett, it's getting dark."

"I don't want to go inside." Bonnie whined, while Wade and Ella sat in silence.

"The children are fine out here with me." There was a finality to his tone, and Scarlett let it drop. She wasn't a complete fool; she knew when he wouldn't back down.

She stared at him for a moment, but then he turned his eyes back to the street. And he heard as she went back inside, slamming the door behind her.

He had no doubt that the democrats would soon be back at the helm. And when the election came, Rhett's predictions were confirmed.

The next day, Rhett took Bonnie with him to town. Everyone was enthralled by the child as she clapped her hands and cheered for the demiquats from her usual perch on the saddle in front of her father.

When all of the votes were in, and the winner announced, there was a different kind of joy that permeated the city. It was a more sober joy, a heartfelt joy turning the Georgians to reverently thank God for their deliverance. Rhett dragged Scarlett with him to church that following Sunday. She was none too happy about, but he insisted for Bonnie's sake.

He was proud, and he knew that his friends were as well. He had helped hand Georgia back to the people. He had pulled her from the choking grasp that the Republicans had throttled her with. And it was all in spite of the carpetbaggers, the scalawags, and the Federal government. Georgia had not been defeated. They had only been suppressed, but they were not crushed. They had not been destroyed.

Rhett mused about all the acts that Congress had passed to keep the state a conquered province, but that was behind them now. The people of Georgia were rising up, throwing to the side all of the individuals who had profited from the Reconstruction (with the obvious exception of Rhett himself) and the negeros that had frolicked through the legislature. Georgia once more belonged to Georgia.

Rhett snickered as he thought of his old friends who had disappeared even before Bullock resigned. They had been close to the govenor, so they obviously had been encouraged to disappear as well. The rest of Scarlett's friends appeared frightened and uncertain.

He had overheard some of the remaining Carpetbaggers and Scalawags ladies commenting: "But who would have thought it would turn out this way? We thought the governor was too powerful. We thought he was here to stay. We thought--"

Scarlett was obviously equally bewildered by the turn of events, she hadn't believed his earlier words. He knew that she wasn't sorry to have the Republicans out of power. She was happy that the Democrats were once again in control. He wondered if her fears from the days right after the war were still to close in her mind for it to really sink in. She had gone with the conquerors, she had surrounded herself with them. She had been so certain that the old rule of Georgia was forever gone, that she seemed confused by the sudden change. She had played with the enemy too often, so that she seemed one of them.

But Rhett was removed from her social blunders. He was now one of the most popular men in the city. People were confident in him and his return to the bosom of the South. He had gladly recanted his Republican heresies and given his time and money to help Georgia rise up. And the people acknowledged him for it.

That Christmas, the Christmas of 1871, was the happiest Christmas for Georgia in a decade. And Rhett vowed to make it the happiest for the children as well. He knew that he was allowing Bonnie more liberties than he should. Some part of him knew that she was running wild. And he knew that he was to blame for her behavior. It was when they had been traveling together, and he had let her do as she pleased. And then during her mother's illness, Rhett had spoiled and petted her so as an outlet for the love her wanted to give to Scarlett. She had had no bed time, she had simply fallen asleep in his arms when she was tired, no matter where they were. It made him feel like the devil to try and force her to go to bed when Ella meekly did exactly as told. He wanted Bonnie to keep her spirit and vivacity.

At times Bonnie's demands were grandiose and ridiculous, but Rhett indulged her all the same.

"Daddy, I want a castle." She told him as she fluffed her dress.

His eyebrow raised, this was quite the request. "A castle, sweetheart? Isn't this house, enough of a castle for you?"

"No, silly daddy. I want a castle. A castle on my hair like all princesses wear, with sparkles on it." She touched her head for emphasis.

"She means, she wants a crown." Wade told him from across the room where he was curled up reading a book.

"Oh, you want a crown?" He questioned for clarification. At her solemn nod, he told her, "Let Daddy find you a crown." He swept her up in his arms and carried her from the nursery, down the stairs and into his office. He opened the safe and pulled out one of Scarlett's jewel encrusted hair combs. Then he carefully set the comb into Bonnie's dark curls.

She tossed her head from side to side clapping and then kissed her daddy who was kneeling on the carpet beside her. "Do I look like a princess, daddy?" She batted her eyelashes at him.

"You always look like a princess to me." He assured her.

But Scarlett was not so appreciative of Rhett's choice for Bonnie's costume. "Rhett, why did you let her have that? That is not a child's plaything, and she doesn't need to play with it." She told him with a hint of bewilderment in her voice.

"She isn't hurting it. And besides, if something happens to it, then I'll get you a new one." He told her off handedly.

"Rhett, you indulge her too much."

"I love her." He stated simply, without hesitation.

"I love her too. She's my child." Scarlett defended.

"Yes, and you show it so well. And you love your other children as well, I take it." Rhett brushed past Scarlett and welcomed Bonnie into his arms. He knew that in her own way that Scarlett did love the child. She really probably loved Wade and Ella was well, but she was too wrapped up in herself to ever be a very demonstrative mother. "Come on princess."

Rhett had tried briefly to go along with Mammy's insistence that she wear the same sort of dresses that other little girls did in dimity frocks and pinafores. Ella obediently wore them, with no fuss or complaint. But Bonnie insisted on Blue taffeta dresses with lace collars as she had chosen when they were away. He hadn't thought anything of letting her choose what she wore. And as he always did, he gave in to her demands. But she was so precious that he did not think that anyone should mind that Bonnie always got her way. She was everyone's favorite, despite her stubborn ways.

Scarlett at times would try to step in and discipline the child. But Bonnie would have nothing of it, and then she would come to him. Never once had he managed to successfully support Scarlett in a reboke on the child. He hadn't the heart to tell her no, or even to let her mother refuse her anything.

"She's too headstrong, Rhett. I can't get her to do anything. You could get her to behave, if you would only try." Scarlett and had told him, sounding totally exasperated with the child.

But he had simply smiled. "She isn't hurting anything, and besides, she is happy. I can't say the same for Wade and Ella." But he even kept most of the malice out of that statement. He refused to reveal any of his emotions to Scarlett.

"Rhett, this is ridiculous. She is three years old. She needs boundaries, rules. You shouldn't just let her interrupt who ever she feels like interrupting. You let her do whatever she pleases." Scarlett complained.

"It's whom, Scarlett." He replied.

She glared at him. "She isn't an adult. Stop treating her like she is one."

He laughed. "She is fine. Everyone loves her. And she doesn't cower at the sight of me. She loves me completely." He left the insinuation in the air that Scarlett was a bad mother. He didn't need to directly say it. She knew what he thought about her parenting skills.

They were sitting at the table, and Rhett was trying to coax Bonnie into eating her vegetables. She consented to eat the carrots because they were sweet, but she turned her nose up at the sight of the green beans. "I don't like that color." she complained.

Rhett could see that this comment seemed to offend Scarlett, and it amused him that a comment such as Bonnie had just made would injure her fragile pride. "Come on, darling. Green beans will make you grow big and strong." He lifted the fork towards her.

She turned her head and narrowed her eyes. "No!" She told him defiantly, as she crossed her arms and scooted back in her chair.

He laughed at her, "Fine, don't eat them. Don't worry, Daddy will take them." Rhett scooped the offensive item off of her plate, so that she would resume her meal. He was rewarded with a grin, as she coked her head in victory.

Rhett looked up to find Wade staring at them, and he realized that while Bonnie had never wanted for anything, there had been times in Wade's life that he had gone to bed hungry. Briefly he thought about how Scarlett had eaten on the honeymoon, the days of starvation and want still too fresh in her mind. And Scarlett had tried to give Wade more than proportionately than he should have had, but still Tara had been full of empty stomachs. Trying again, he forked one of the beans off of his own plate and made train noises trying to get Bonnie to open her mouth. It really wasn't fair to Wade for Bonnie to waste food like she did.

Bonnie pursed her lips together, and slapped her father's hand away, sending the bean spiraling off the fork to land across the table on Ella's plate as she cried "No!" Ella looked up from her plate, her eyes hesitant and startled. Scarlett rose from the table and raised her hand to swat the back of Bonnie's hand. But Rhett moved more quickly and grasped her wrist in his vise-like hold. "Don't touch her." He told Scarlett softly. His eyes glared into hers, telling her in no uncertain terms that she was not to lay a hand on the child.

Scarlett pulled her wrist away and returned to her seat. She didn't approve of his decisions, but it was too late for her to do anything about it. His child wasn't going to be afraid of her shadow, like Scarlett had made Wade and Ella.

Bonnie leaned over and plucked a cherry from Rhett's dessert plate. She popped it into her mouth and grinned up at him impishly. Wade and Ella's eyes carefully watching the interaction, as Rhett just laughed.

Later that evening, Scarlett came to him as he was about to enter his room to read a story to Bonnie.

"I wish you would make her mind." Scarlett told him. "She is such a darling thing, but Rhett you can't allow her to talk back to you like that."

Rhett shrugged. "I don't mind her asserting her opinion. I don't see that I ever stopped you. Why should Bonnie be any different? And besides, she's such a bright little thing. Why, I don't know that I've ever seen a child as smart as she is." He glowed with fatherly pride.

There was a flash of jealously sparking like a fire in her eyes. But it was ridiculous for her to be jealous of her own child as she undoubtedly was. She could have had all that Bonnie had. He had wanted to shower her with everything that he could give. But she didn't love him. She hadn't let him. And he had at times spoiled and petted her, just as he now did to Bonnie. During the war, he had taken every opportunity to give her anything that would make her eyes sparkle and her dimples flash. But she had refused all of that in the moment that she turned him out of her bed.

Scarlett started to protest, but Bonnie called to him, and he left Scarlett sputtering in the hall.

"Daddy," Bonnie's eyes sparkled at the sight of him. "Daddy, will you read me a story?"

Rhett grinned as she flashed her dimples at him. He had already been the one to undress her and ready her for bed, for she wouldn't allow anyone else to perform that task. "What story would you like, precious?"

Bonnie peered up at him, through her sooty lashes. "Snow White, daddy. I like the part about the prince." Rhett nodded. "Daddy, are you my prince?"

Rhett beamed, "Of course I am. Aren't you daddy's best sweetheart?"

She nodded in triumph and scooted over on her bed to make room for her father.

He sat down on the bed and opened the book, taking a minute to find the right page. He cleared his throat and began. "Once upon a time, long, long ago, there lived a queen. And she desperately wanted a baby daughter. And one day while the queen was sewing and staring out the window at the winter day, she pricked her finger with the needle. The drop of blood fell on the snow that was nestled against the black window frame, and the queen said, "I want my daughter to have hair as black as ebony,..."

He felt a tug on his sleeved. "What's eh-bone e?" Bonnie asked, rolling the word around in her mouth, staring at the picture in the book.

Rhett smiled, and tugged at one of Bonnie's own ringlets, letting it wrap around his finger. "It means black, like your hair."

"And mother's hair? Does Snow White look like mother?" Bonnie added.

"That's right." He paused and looked at her but she was still staring at the picture so he continued. "...hair as black as ebony, lips as red as blood, and skin as white as snow."

"Daddy... what color were her eyes?" Bonnie asked.

Rhett sat for a moment, "I don't know. What color do you think they were?"

She twisted her lips, and then pressing one of her fingers into her dimple,she answered, "ummm, I think that her eyes were blue like mine. Blue is my favorite -ist color."

Rhett nodded, "I think that you are right. Her eyes would have had to be blue to be the fairest in the land." And with a nod, Bonnie snuggled against him as he continued the story. As the story progressed, Bonnie's eyes began drooping until she could no longer hold them open any longer. Just before she fell asleep she whispered, "Daddy, I love you." Rhett smiled and kissed her forehead. And he watched her as she slept, her breathing becoming deep and even. Then he himself retired to bed.

Later in the night, he was awakened by moans and small cries coming from Bonnie's direction. He quickly rose from his bed and picked her up. "Shhh-it's just a nightmare. Daddy's here. Daddy won't let anything hurt you."

She whimpered quietly, as she buried her face in his chest. "It was scary, daddy." Her hot tears, and warm breath dampened the front of his night shirt.

"Well I won't let anything get you. Shhh- go to sleep. Daddy's got you." She relaxed in his arms, and let sleep retake her. And he cherished the feeling of the weight of her in his arms.

He was the center of Bonnie's universe. She loved her mother and brother and sister and Mammy and Aunt Melanie. But Rhett knew that she venerated him as her god. And he had no heart to correct any of her impulses. He couldn't lose her devotion with reprimands and rules.


	18. A Scarlett Cry

**Author's Note: Thank you to all my reviewers and readers. Thank you to Corrin for reading this and giving me feedback before I posted. So here is the chapter that you have been dreading. More than anything else, I have expanded the scene while still trying to stay faithful to the original. And it is through rhett's eyes that we relive that day...**

A Scarlett Cry

Bonnie was the center of his universe. But when it came to matters of his cherished daughter he acknowledged that Mammy had more experience with little girls than he. And she was an expert on what was appropriate for a child who would one day be lady and all matters concerning the raising of little girls. And so when Mammy began to grumble about the impropriety of a girl child riding "a-straddle in front of her pa wid her dress flyin' up" when Bonnie was four years old, Rhett quickly lent an attentive ear.

So Rhett bought his daughter a small brown and white Shetland pony with a long silky mane and tail and a tiny side saddle with silver trimmings. Bonnie had requested that the saddle itself be blue, but even Rhett with unmatched tenacity and determination had been unable to find anyone who was even willing to make one to those particular specifications, but Bonnie had trusted her father when he explained that it was simply impossible to find.

When the pony was originally purchased, Rhett claimed that the pony, was in fact for all three of the children. He purchased a saddle for Wade, but the child was uninterested in the animal, much preferring his St. Bernard. And Ella was a skittish little girl at best. All animals frightened her, and some of the tragic events leading to her grandfather's death when Scarlett had been pregnant with her, seemed to have become ingrained in the child. She was very much a product of the fearful and perilous times in which she had been born. Although only less than three years separated the two girls, they had been born into different worlds.

And so the pony became Bonnie's own and she named "Mr. Butler", thinking that no other name was as wonderful as her father's own. It bothered her to no end that she was unable to ride in the same manner as her father. Rhett remembered with clarity the discussion that had followed one of her childish tantrums.

"Daddy," she wailed, as she wiped the tears from her red face, sniffling pathetically. "Daddy, I want to ride, just like you." She peered up at him charmingly, a brilliant, glowing smile. She batted her eyes at him, unknowingly embracing all of the charm of her mother. She was so much like Scarlett, just as charming and headstrong and intellient.

"Oh no, Bonnie, you don't want to do that," he told her with a grin. "Why I was just telling your Aunt Melanie the other day that you were the best horse-woman that I had ever seen, and she agreed that you were quite good. But then she reminded me how good your mother is. And of course your mother rides side saddle, and so of course to be the best you would have to ride the same as your mother. Why it's very easy to ride like I do. Why, only an expert horse-woman can properly ride side saddle. But of course, if you'd rather only be a marginal rider..." He trailed off.

"No, Daddy!" She cried, her eyes flashing at the challenge her father was presenting to her. "I want to be the best horsewoman ever. I can ride better than anyone else I know, beside you daddy. I can ride sidesaddle, I can."

"No, I don't know if you are ready, Bonnie. Perhaps we should wait until you are a little older." He added with a smile.

"I'm big enough, Daddy. I am. Please let me ride, sidesaddle Daddy. I am ready." She tilted her chin up, in a convincing imitation of her mother.

Rhett smiled at her indulgently, knowing that he had changed her mind by convincing her that she was now wanting the exact opposite of what she had initially claimed to desire. It was exactly the same tactic he had perfected on Scarlett during the war, but like Scarlett, he hated to look back at the past. He had been so confident back then, sure that he would have no trouble in swaying Scarlett's devotion to Ashley Wilkes. But he had been wrong, so terribly wrong, and now all of his devotion was channeled into Bonnie. And so Bonnie began to learn to ride on her sidesaddle, excelling quickly, allowing Rhett's pride in her accomplishments to swell even greater.

"Wait till she's old enough to hunt," he boasted to anyone who would listen. "There'll be no one like her on any field. I'll take her to Virginia then. That's where the real hunting is. And Kentucky where they appreciate good riders." He had many exciting things planned for his daughters life. He wanted to give her nothing less than her very hearts every desire.

When the seamstress came to sew the children's new wardrobes, Bonnie had, of course, insisted upon her ever present choice of blue. Scarlett had finished her bookwork for the store and had joined the rest of the family in the parlor, because the weather was rainy. Ella was quietly playing with a doll, and Wade was occupied in the corner with a new book that Rhett had given him. Bonnie, however, was not content to stay inside, when she could have at least been in the barn talking to Mr. Butler. But Rhett had firmly told her that it was too wet and she would have to be measured for her new dresses.

Of course when the seamstress came in the room, she turned on the charm, as she began choosing with her mother's help what material would be used for her dresses. Rhett suggested that Bonnie needed a new riding habit, and Scarlett had agreed.

But she hadn't been thrilled with Bonnie's selection of material to be used, since it was highly impractical. But of course Rhett refused to not give in to his child's every whim even with Scarlett's reservations, "But, my darling! Not that blue velvet! The blue velvet is for a party dress for me," laughed Scarlett. "A nice black broadcloth is what little girls wear." At this, Bonnie's small black brows came together in the look that was an indicator of an ensuing tantrum, and so Scarlett turned to him to agree with her. "For Heaven's sake, Rhett, tell her how unsuitable it would be and how dirty it will get."

"Oh, let her have the blue velvet. If it gets dirty, we'll make her another one," said Rhett easily. He could see that Scarlett was furious at his decision, but she also knew that once his decision was made that there was no other choice. She had frowned at him, but he smiled indulgently at his daughter who was confidently nestled in his arms. Scarlett's opinion was irrelevant as long as Bonnie was content.

Scarlett had moved along in the other fabric selections for both of the girls, while Bonnie reached up and kissed her fathers cheek. "Thank you, Daddy."

Rhett grinned and pulled her in a little closer for a tighter hug. "You're welcome, darling. Anything for my best sweetheart."

Rhett noticed from the corner of his eyes, that Ella was eying him with a look of utter longing that for a moment he considered pulling her back into his arms. But he ignored it, maintaining his hold on Bonnie, knowing that he was hurting Ella. He didn't want to hurt her; she was a sweet, giddy, silly child. But a greater attachment to her, somehow tied him more closely to Scarlett, and the only remaining tie that bound him to his wife was the child that they shared. And Bonnie would never have come, if Scarlett had had her way.

When the seamstress finally delivered the new wardrobe into the nursery, Bonnie was terribly impatient to see her new riding habit. She quickly dug through the dresses, tossing them aside in careless abandon as she searched for the habit. Finally she found it, and pulled it from the stack.

She grabbed up the costume and ran with it behind the dressing screen. She commanded imperiously for Mammy to help her dress. Once outfitted in it, she modeled it for her mother and father and Ella. It was a striking blue velvet that mirrored the color of her eyes. It had a skirt that would trail down the ponies side and a black hat with a red plume in it. She pointed to the plume announcing, "Aunt Melly told me stories about Jeb Stuart. She said he used to have a plume, just like mine. And I'm going to be just as brave as he ever was. I'm going to be ever so brave," she boasted.

Rhett smiled at her encouragingly. "You do look lovely, darling."

"Oh, Daddy, can I please go show Mr. Butler? He'll like it so much. Daddy, come with me, please?" She tugged at her father's hand. He looked slightly apologetic as the child led him from the room. They rushed down the stairs as quickly as Bonnie's sturdy little legs would carry her. And then out of the house out to the stables.

She preened in front of her pony, twirling so that the animal might fully appreciate the beauty of the creation. The pony, who was currently busy eating, seemed disinterested, but Bonnie was oblivious, completely entranced in the way that the skirt moved as she twirled in it. "Daddy, see. Mr. Butler likes it. He thinks its really pretty." She told her father with a smile that lit up her eyes. "Daddy, can I please try it out. I want to ride Mr. Butler." She looked up at her father, and as an after thought, she added, "Please."

Rhett smiled indulgently, as he frequently did when she was involved. He called for one of the grooms to prepare the pony for the ride. And soon he found himself riding down Peachtree Street, reining in his big black horse to keep pace with the fat pony's gait.

This ride soon was followed with other rides, and they became a common site around Atlanta. The tall father riding on a horse that seemed to mirror his personality, while the child rode her short squat little animal. Sometimes they went tearing down the quiet roads about the town, scattering chickens and dogs and children, Bonnie beating Mr. Butler with her crop, her tangled curls flying, Rhett holding in his horse with a firm hand so that she might think Mr. Butler was winning the race. They were quite the sight, and this endeared the pair even more to the Old Guard. The love shared between the two was without question.

Soon Bonnie was confident of her seat. The child was utterly fearless and an excellent rider. She held the reigns with a confidence that was in contradiction with her young age. After only a few months time Rhett was prepared to begin allowing her to begin jumping. To prepare the animal for the task, he paid Wash, one of Uncle Peter's small nephews, twenty-five cents a day to teach Mr. Butler to jump over the small hurdle that was built in the lawn behind the house. Rhett was careful in the design of the jump so that the low jumps that were within the reach of Mr. Butler's short legs. The first bar was a mere two inches off of the ground, but gradually it was raised until it rested a full foot from the grass.

Mr. Butler was patient animal. He bore the constant hoof examinations and having his tail pulled frequently by his little mistress. But he was a stubborn animal who did not want to jump. He was content to walk his fat little body around the yard, and felt that all other tasks were beyond his duties. Nor did Wash want to teach the animal, since he was afraid of horses. Only because of the amount of money that seemed great to him, did he proceed to follow his task of taking the pony over the bar dozens of times a day. And more than the others, this arrangement did not meet with Bonnie's approval. She hated the thought of anyone else riding her dear pony. She constantly stood on the sidelines, dancing with great impatience as she waited for Mr. Butler to be done with his lessons.

Rhett was amused when Scarlett offered the child dolls and tea parties. But those were not the sort of things that interested Bonnie. He frequently heard Mammy grumbling under her breath about the similarities between Scarlett and her youngest child. "Dat chile is jist lak huh mama. Miz Scahlut wuz ahlways ridun hawses wif de boys. She neber wahnted to be uh prah-puh liddle lady." He heard her huff out after one of Scarlett's attempts to coax the child inside. But Bonnie would not be entertained as Ella was with sugar water and frilly dolls.

He watched in a detached manner as Scarlett seemed to take great pleasure in his pride when Bonnie successfully made her first jump. It had taken much observation for Rhett to deem the pony ready to jump with Bonnie, at which Bonnie's excitement had been boundless. That first jump had been done with flying colors, and from that moment on, Bonnie could not be satisfied with riding through the streets with her father as they had fallen into the habit of doing.

He knew that Scarlett hoped that the activity would pall, that the novelty would wear off. He even considered that the child should be learning a greater variety of things, but she would not be swayed. She wore a path in the grass with her constant jumping. She would spend every minute that she was allowed, practicing on Mr. Butler. He had heard Grandpa Merriweather say that her whoops each time she made a successful jump sounded like an Apache who had made a successful scalping. Bonnie refused to try another activity. She was determined to be exceptional, and she had no fear within her body.

After the first week, Bonnie begged for a higher bar, a bar that was a foot and a half from the ground. "Daddy," she pleaded, her lower lip jutting out in a fashion that indicated that she was quite practiced at it. "Please, can I have a higher bar? I know that I am ready." She fluttered her eye lashes at him, tiling her head as she peered up at him.

"When you are six years old," said Rhett. "Then you'll be big enough for a higher jump and I'll buy you a bigger horse. Mr. Butler's legs aren't long enough." He wasn't too worried, confident that he was making the right decision.

"They are, too, I jumped Aunt Melly's rose bushes and they are 'normously high!" She said stubbornly, her pout no longer faked. She was not happy with her father's decision, and so she wrapped her short arms around his legs, attempting to sway him with her charm.

"No, you must wait," said Rhett, firm for once. At this Bonnie threw herself on the ground. "Daddy, you have to let me." Her shrill cries piercing through the air in the same way that her earlier whoops had as well. Tears poured from her eyes as she screamed as if someone were beating her. He didn't have the heart to allow her to continue her cries. Her tears had always been his undoing. She knew that he could never say no to her for long if she began to cry. He continued his refusal for several days, but before the week was out, he couldn't oppose her any longer. The firmness gradually faded away before her incessant importunings and tantrums.

"Oh, all right," he said with a laugh one morning less than a week after and moved the narrow white cross bar higher. "If you fall off, don't cry and blame me!" He moved to the side to allow her to jump. He saw the child stop and glance up at the house. Even as willful as she was she craved her mother's approval and pride, and he knew it.

"Mother!" screamed Bonnie, turning her head up toward Scarlett's bedroom. "Mother! Watch me! Daddy says I can!" Her cherished blue habit was now dirty and in need of replacement. Her black curls bounced as she tossed them back and forth excitedly as she prepared to mount her pony to jump. She nearly bounced with the excitement of what she was preparing to do. She reached up and stroked the horse's mane, placing a kiss on the pony's side.

Scarlett appeared in the window, smiling down at her daughter. And when Bonnie saw her, she cried out, "Mother, watch!" Her voice ringing through the air.

Scarlett replied from the window, "I'm watching dear." The pride was evident in her voice. Rhett had to smile, knowing the pride that they shared. Scarlett loved Bonnie, even if she hadn't been the most attentive parent. And then Scarlett called out, "You're mighty pretty, precious!"

Rhett lifted the child and set her on the pony, as she called back to her mother. "So are you." Then she hammered a heel into Mr. Butler's ribs, sending the animal galloping down the yard toward the arbor, ready to take the new higher jump.

"Mother, watch me take this one!" she cried.

Rhett smiled with pride as she rode swiftly for the hurdle. She was beautiful, with her black curls jerking and her blue eyes blazing with the thrill of a new challenge. He hoped that he hadn't been wrong to raise the bar. But she was going to be an amazing rider when she was grown. She was such a natural rider. He imagined for a moment the beaux lining up like they had at one time for Scarlett on that long ago day at Twelve Oaks. He imagined that she might even be more beautiful than her mother had been, since Scarlett's features were not fitting with conventional standards of beauty.

Then Scarlett's voice rang out in a terrified shrill, it startled him as she screamed. "No! No! Oh, Bonnie, stop!" There was an urgency in her voice that frightened Rhett. He began to rush toward the hurdle compelled by Scarlett's voice, as the world seemed to move in slow motion. Something in Scarlett's fear rang a bell in his head, compelled his feet to rush forward. What if she was right? What if he shouldn't have raised the bar? What if she wasn't ready? But even as he ran with all of the speed that he had ever run, he saw the pony balk at the higher jump and fall. Bonnie screamed as her small body was flung from her saddle at the sudden stop in motion. She couldn't hold on to the side saddle. It was too precarious of a perch. Her small hands had nothing grab on to. She could do nothing, and he knew that for one of the few times in her life, fear was in her eyes.

He watched each curl as she flew head first towards the white bar. The blue velvet trailing behind her in a brilliant arch. He couldn't get there in time. His breath was coming in gasps. The whole world had spun off of its axis. He couldn't stop it. There was nothing he could do, but he continued running, praying that he was wrong. He cried out helplessly, knowing that he was too late to stop anything.

There was a sharp splintering noise as Bonnie's body struck the rail. He was close enough then to hear another sound, a sickening sound that chilled him to the bone. He'd heard it too many times before to not know that sound or to try and dismiss it as anything else-- the cracking sound as her neck broke. For a moment, time stood still. And then Mr. Butler scrambled to his feet. The saddle was empty as the pony trotted off unscathed.

Rhett fell to the ground beside the broken hurdle, his eyes clouded with panic and tears, his hands reaching for his daughter. There was no rise and fall of her chest. No breath passed through those rosebud lips. And that sweet, tender heart did not beat. He knew that her neck was broken. But he hoped.

He lifted her body, burying his face in her chest, hoping that he was wrong and she was just hurt. He wanted nothing more than to hear her heart beating. But it wasn't. Her heart had stopped. She had no breath. He wanted to breathe life back into her. He breathed into her mouth, trying to force breath into her lungs, but nothing happened. He would give all of his breath for her to breathe again. He didn't know what to do. For a moment he thought of what he might have done in another situation. If it were a drowning, he would lift her knees to her chest. He tried, but it wasn't working.

He knew that she was gone. He knew it, but he couldn't accept it. He couldn't allow himself to believe that his daughter with the blazing blue eyes was cradled in his arms, her life snuffed out so suddenly. He was desperate for anything, anything to bring her back. He remembered something he had seen during the war and so he lay her back on the ground, raising her arms and pushing them down on her chest trying to make her heart start beating again. "Bonnie, don't go! Daddy needs you. Your best sweetheart needs you. Please, baby, breathe. Damn it! You have let your heart start beating. Bonnie, breath. Breathe for Daddy." He moaned, pleading as agonized tears flowed out dripping onto Bonnie's face and dress. He kept trying, pressing against her chest with all of his force until he heard a crack, and he knew with a shudder that he had broken one of her ribs. He stared in revulsion at his hands that had broken her, even more than she was already broken. He looked up in shock as he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Rhett," Melanie spoke softly, gently. He didn't know how long he had been bent over her body. He didn't know how anyone had already made their way to him. "Let Dr. Meade look at her." She pleaded. If it had been anyone else, he would have ignored them, but it wasn't anyone else. It was Melanie, sweet Melanie who had never been anything but kind to him and Bonnie and Scarlett.

Rhett glanced from Bonnie's pale face to Melanie's concerned one, with tear streaks evident, as they still were falling. He rose and stepped back, shaking his head in confusion and shock and disbelief. He watched as Dr. Meade carefully examined her body. Rhett wanted to lunge forward, afraid that he would hurt her, although in his mind he knew that she could feel no pain. He felt Melanie's small hand on his arm, offering her comfort. He knew in the back of his mind that she loved Bonnie too.

The doctor rose from beside the child, a grim look etched upon his face. "I'm sorry Captain Butler. She's gone. She broke her neck immediately. She didn't feel any pain. I'm so sorry. She was such a charming child." He lowered his voice as he added, "I'll be inside, checking on Mrs. Butler."

An intense flow of anger rose, like fire in his bones. The pony. That pony had survived and his Bonnie hadn't. He pulled his gun from its holster and shot the pony unflinchingly, so that it fell to the ground, bleeding from the fatal wound that he had dealt it.

He felt the weight of the gun in his hand. Oh, God. It would be so easy to take this gun and end it all. He caressed the barrel with a tenderness, as if it were his ticket to heaven, as if it were a way to return to his Bonnie. It could all end here. It could end here, beside his daughter, and he wouldn't have to live without her. He wouldn't have to go on and continue living, when his heart was already in the grave. It could be the answer to this. This could be the finale. He would feel no more pain, and Scarlett would inherit his money which was the sum of why she had married him in the first place. And she would again be the black widow. It seemed so fitting, so right. But suddenly he saw a flash of pink, as Ella ran through the gathering crowds screaming and crying for her sister. It was only a small twinge, but it was enough. He couldn't do this in front of her. Even if she wasn't his child, he couldn't let her witness this scene. He didn't even want her or Wade to see their sister's broken body.

Melanie ushered Ella away. Dr. Meade had been standing, watching him, but as he watched he seemed to acknowledge that some form of sanity had returned to his eyes. The doctor retreated towards the house, as Rhett moved forward to scoop up his daughter's broken body. He cradled her limp body in his arms. The blue of her habit spreading out as he clutched her to his chest as he had every time he had soothed her from her nightmares. He cradled her; his tears washing some of the dirt from her face. He smoothed the hair from her face, and kissed her pale brow tenderly as he had every night as she had fallen asleep.

He rose unsteadily to his feet, feeling nothing but shock, the reality of the situation not fully setting in. His heart constricted, as he looked at her eyes that were now forever closed. He was numb, although his breathing was shallow and painful in his chest as if his heart was beating itself out of his chest to escape to join his daughter. He stumbled as he struggled to make his way to the house. He walked slowly up the stairs to the veranda. There was no air. Air no longer existed. Nothing existed, nothing existed except the tiny body that he held in his arms. Tears poured from his eyes. He did this. He let her jump, when he knew that she shouldn't, she wasn't ready. Mr. Butler's legs weren't long enough. He knew that. Why did he let her break him down. He had wanted to give her the world.

He was a murderer. His child was dead in his arms. It was his fault. He bent his head over her, protecting her face from anyone else's vision.

"Bonnie, my Bonnie," he moaned. "Daddy, has you. Daddy, won't let you go. Shhh-shhh, it's all right. Daddy is here." A part of him knew that she was truly gone, but he was not ready yet to let go of her. He carried her into the house, past the tear-stained faces of the servants and up the stairs, paying no heed to anyone else, not caring that Scarlett was not to be seen. She hadn't really cared ,and there was no one else. "Daddy's here. And nothing will ever hurt you again. Daddy has you."


	19. Sleeping Beauty

Sleeping Beauty

Her soft laughter filled the room. Her joyous smile shone through the darkness. "Daddy, don't be sad. Daddy, I'm not gone. I'll always be here with you." She ran and jumped into his arms, placing a loud smacking kiss on his cheek. "I want to stay with you forever."

* * *

"Read me a story, a different one, the one about the sleeping princess."

"All right, but just this one story. Then you are going to bed. You are already about to lose that battle." He told her with a gentle laugh. Being with her made him feel so much younger, almost as if the war had never happened, almost as if he were 20 years younger and unscathed by life.

"Daddy, Do you know what my favorite-ist part is?" She turned to him inquisitively.

"And what would that be? Is it the part about the her pricking her finger?" He asked with mock gravity.

Bonnie shook her head, her curls tumbling around her shoulders.

"Is it the part where everyone falls asleep?" He asked, raising one eyebrow.

"No, daddy." she said slapping at his arm.

"Then is it the part where the Prince kisses the princess, and she wakes up?" He asked certain that this was the correct answer.

"No." She told him.

"Then what is it?" He was surprised.

"I like the part when she gets to see her mommy and daddy again. That's the best part, she gets to stay with her mommy and daddy forever and her prince. That's the best part." she told him triumphantly.

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, as she snuggled into his warmth, and he knew that she would soon be asleep. She was already slipping, as she leaned against him limply, her breath against his chest was warm and sweet. And as soon as sleep claimed her, he would pick her up and put her in her own bed.

* * *

He gently laid her on her small bed that was placed beside his, brushing her curls softly from her face so they fanned out in an ebony halo contrasting with the alabaster of her skin. Her black eye lashes spread out on her pale cheeks as if she were only sleeping, even as the rose slowly faded from her skin. His tears had cut a path through the dirt that came from the fall, and the blood from where the gravel had cut into her face. He brushed his hand tenderly across the skin of her cheek, that was already losing its warmth. He lifted one of her hands to his lips, and he softly and reverently kissed it. It was already cool. Death was already claiming her. He gently placed her hand over her stomach, a position in which she often slept. He could look at her and still pretend that she was only sleeping, that in any moment she would awaken and smile up at him begging to be held. The only thing missing was the soft breathy sounds as she exhaled; he tried to block the silence out.

He saw one of Bonnie's story books still sitting on the night stand and for a moment he could imagine that she was a fairytale princess like Snow White or Sleeping Beauty, which were her very favorite stories, and it would only take a kiss from her true love to bring the color back to her face and the breath back to her lungs.

She had believed in them. She was confident that fairy tales were true. But as much as he would like to believe in things such as happily ever after, as much as he wished that they could be true for this one moment in time; life had taught him differently. He had loved, truly loved only one person other than his daughter. His love had not been returned. His love had been tossed aside and spurned at his every advance. This... this was not happily ever after, God help anyone who thought this was anything close to happily ever after. This was a nightmare.

For a moment, the silence seemed to penetrate his lungs stealing his breath as well, so he turned and walked to the windows and pulled the drapes closed, before lighting a multitude of candles. She hated the dark. She was terrified of the dark. He couldn't stand for her to be afraid; he couldn't leave her in the darkness. He lit the familiar lamps, allowing their glow to permeate the darkness, as he picked Bonnie back up into his arms. Then he sat on the bed holding her, crooning to her softly, filling his mind up with the memory of her smiles and his heart with her laughter.

Mammy quietly entered the room, offering to clean the child's face, but Rhett couldn't bear the thought of letting his child leave his arms. He had to hold on to her. Couldn't they see? He couldn't lay her down, because then it would be true, and he wasn't ready to face it. So he simply shook his head at her, but Mammy seemed to understand. She stepped back, watching him as he held Bonnie. He could feel her eyes on his bent head, but he was focused on his child's beautiful face. She truly was beautiful. She would have been so beautiful. Her whole life had been before her. She had been adored by all. How could God take her away? How could someone, that people claimed to be a loving God, do something like this? He needed her.

In his mind, he could see her. He could see it as clearly as if it were happening now. She would make her debut in Charleston, so that his mother could see it. And she was breath taking. Her blue eyes shining at him as she wore a satiny white dress with her hair piled on top of her head in an elaborate mass of raven curls. She wore her mother's sparkling sapphire earbobs, which only enhanced the brilliant color of her eyes. Oh, how the young men would eagerly line up to dance with her. And she would charm them all. She would make them all fall in love with her. And she would spin and twirl into the night.

But she would never see that day. She would never dance and steal hearts, other than his own. Her future was gone. All his hope for the world was gone with it.

His head jerked up, as the door flew open. A dazed and pale Scarlett came into the room. Her green eyes stood out oddly on her ashen face that was contorted with grief and rage. She shook as she spoke. "You killed her. You killed my baby. Give her to me. " At first her words were spoken softly, as if she didn't have breath enough to make them stronger. But her grief gave her strength. "Give me my child. You killed my child! You killed my baby!" She screamed, trails of tears still shimmering against her ghostly skin, tears still sparkling amidst her eyelashes.

Rhett clutched Bonnie closer to him,cradling her as if her were shielding her ears from the words that Scarlett spoke, hiding everything unpleasant from her. Tears coursed down his face at the words. He was utterly defeated. She was right; he had killed Bonnie. He couldn't argue against her.

"She had no business jumping a hurdle that high! She was four. She was only four years old. Good God.! What were you thinking? You even told her so yourself. But you couldn't be firm with her, you wouldn't tell her no. You wouldn't even let me tell her no. And now she's dead. You murdered her. You murdered my child. You killed her. You killed her! Damn you, Rhett Butler! You killed my child!" Scarlett's eyes blazed wildly with the grief and anger.

"No." he moaned, his agony apparent in the lines of his body and grief etched into his face.

"Give me my child! Give me my child you bastard! You spoiled and petted her and let her have her way on everything. Its your fault she's dead. I want my baby back. And my baby is never coming back! Let me hold her. I need to hold her one more time, please" She half screamed, half begged.

Mammy stepped forward. "Give dat chile ter its mammy. Ah ain' gwine have no sech goin's on over mah Lil Miss." Rhett handed Bonnie over to Mammy,as if to spare the child from the fight that was already in progress. Mammy took the child to wash her face, as if she was still alive. Mammy would keep Bonnie safe.

"She's my child." Scarlett seethed.

"It's not as if you acted like mother to her." He shot back, now that he was not cradling Bonnie in his arms.

"Well, it isn't as if you would let me be her mother. At least I didn't murder my own child." she said coldly.

"You've never cared for any of your children, not Bonnie, not Wade, not Ella. You wouldn't have had any of them, if the choice had been yours. At least you don't have to deal with the other child, the one you miscarried. Thank God that child isn't being put through the torture of being your child."

Scarlett took a step back, as if he had physically hit her. "At least the children I had the right to discipline are still alive, except of course the one that you killed on the stairs."

He ignored the reference to the miscarriage. "And Wade and Ella are terrified of you. You scare them senseless. You've never really cared about anyone but yourself, and your stupid precious Ashley Wilkes. Isn't it convenient that our daughter is gone, so that there are no ties between you and I that cannot be severed." He told her.

"You wouldn't dare." she said through gritted teeth.

"Oh, but wouldn't I? The only reason I have ever in my life not been an outcast, was for her. Do you think any of this matters now, now that she is gone. If I am guilty of murdering both of my children, then I guess it wouldn't take much stretch of the imagination for me to rid myself of a wife that I would like to wash my hands of." She looked at him, fear in her eyes that he could actually hurt her. She was afraid of what he was threatening, afraid of who he was.

"Get out." Rhett commanded. "Get out before I kill you. You won't touch her. You ruin everything that you touch. I won't allow you to touch her." His voice was low and menacing, and Scarlett backed out the door. Rhett took Bonnie from Mammy and locked the door behind her when she left. No one was going to take his daughter from him. All he was had been poured out into her. He knew she was gone; logically, he knew it. But he would have to do this on his own timing. He didn't know how to say goodbye.

He held her against his chest, the tears finding no end. His body was shaking with the sobs. And then he pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, hoping against hope that this kiss would wake her. But of course it didn't. There was no sleeping beauty. There were no fairy tales. Happily ever after did not exist.

Then with determination he rose and carried her down the stairs and out the door to a waiting carriage. He wouldn't entrust someone else to this job. If his daughter was going to go to the undertaker, then he would be the one to take her. Scarlett opened the door to enter the carriage, as if she were welcome, as if he would allow her near Bonnie. So he stared her down, the hate for her smoldering in his eyes. He needed this time with Bonnie.


	20. Ever so Still

Author's Note: I know that these chapters are depressing, but for me to stay accurate, there was no way that I would do anything but depressing. And I know more about embalming and Victorian rules of what to bury people in and all, more than any person should. Thank you everyone for the reviews. I'm going to have do something happy soon. And I have tried to add some less depressing stuff of memories that are happy. Thanks to Corrin and Janet

In Memory of Becky, who was singularly unique and loved to read just as much as I do. 1980-2008

Ever so Still

It took everything he had to hand Bonnie over to the undertaker. A parent wasn't supposed to do this; He shouldn't be saying goodbye to his daughter. He brushed her hair softly, and he gently kissed her cheek and her forehead. Tears pouring without ceasing down his face. "Bonnie, I love you. Daddy, will always love you." He whispered softly to her." And then they disappeared with her into the back room. He found a seat and slumped into it.

He sat alone inside the undertaker's front room. He couldn't leave her. She would be afraid. She had never been here before, and she would need her daddy.

As he sat there, he silently replayed that moment over and over in his mind, the last moment that she lived and breathed and thought and felt. It was that moment, the moment that changed his life forever. Sometimes it played in slow motion, allowing him to see every instant, every sound in excruciating detail, and at other times it went so quickly that all he could see was streak of blue velvet in front of him.

He sat there in silent agony, waiting for them to return her to his arms. He still needed to hold her.

Mammy opened the door and walked into the building, holding on to a white cashmere robe, trimmed in blue with delicate details of blue embroidery. Rhett looked at the robe and slowly nodded. She would look like an angel in it.

One of the undertaker's assistants came through the door and took the robe and others items that they would need to dress the child from her Mammy. Rhett looked away from the door, afraid to see what they were doing inside. He knew little of the processes of embalming, it seemed barbaric and brutal. But he wanted to be able to see her for as long as possible.

He knew that they would drain all of her blood. He knew that they would pump a solution containing arsenic and other chemicals in combination into her empty veins. It was too mechanical, to simple as if she was nothing but a body.

He lowered his head into his hands and continued to sob. And he heard the gentle sound as Mammy shut the door, leaving him to grieve alone.

He wished that Scarlett cared. He wished that they could hold each other and cry for their lost child together. He wished that there was not the distance between them, though much of the distance had been of his making. He wished that she would hold him and tell him that he wasn't to blame. He needed to be absolved. He felt like his hands were covered in blood.

The late afternoon sun spilled through the stained glass, leaving odd patterns on the red carpet. The air was just turning warm, and the green of spring was weaving it's magic across Atlanta.

Bonnie was in her father's arms; her little arms tightly clenched around his neck. The fragrance of the fresh air, still clung to them for they had been out walking in the park. "Daddy?" She asked him.

"Bonnie." He said mischievously. Then he become serious, "What is it darling?"

"Do you and mother dance?" She asked. "Like all the princesses and princes in my story books..."

Rhett paused. "Your mother is too busy for that now, but once upon a time we used to dance." He smiled wistfully at the memory.

"Can you show me? Can you teach me?" She continued, her dark brow furrowing in concentration.

"Of, course. Anything for daddy's little princess." He said as he kissed her cheek.

She wriggled in his grip. "I want down." She said imperiously.

He was surprised, but he set her on the ground. And she set off running towards Scarlett's office. She burst into the room, knowing that it was something that mother normally didn't like. "Mother." She said.

"What is it precious?" Scarlett asked, staring at the beautiful child. She was just about to the leave the room anyway.

"I want you to dance. I want you to dance like one of the princesses in my stories." She looked up at her mother fluttering her eyelashes and using a southern belle simper -- using her mother's tricks against her.

This wasn't what Rhett had planned on, but Scarlett agreed. And they soon found themselves on the third floor standing in the ballroom. One of the servants that had been trained in some music was seated at the piano. The music began, and Scarlett and Rhett were dancing, the sounds wafting around them like a silken breeze. They were stiff and formal, like marionettes, not man and wife -- both acting as if closer contact would burn.

But Bonnie was enchanted, none the less. "Daddy, dance with me now. Dance with me." She cried, clapping her hands excitedly. And so Rhett lifted her into his arms and waltzed across the room, with all of the grace that he had danced with Scarlett at the Bazaar during the war, swirling and dipping to the lilting of the music. Bonnie's giggles combined with the piano into a melody that was timeless.

Rhett didn't know how long he had been there, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He jerked his head up to look at this interloper, only to find the undertaker standing before him. "She's ready for you to see." The man gently told him.

Rhett stood on shaking legs and followed him into the back room. The windows were shuttered, and the dim light in the room made it difficult for Rhett to see. Someone lit a lamp, and Rhett saw her laying so still upon the table. Her hands were carefully clasped at her waist, and her curls were perfectly coiled with tiny white flowers woven together like a crown on top of them. A white rose was clutched in her small hands. She looked like china doll that sat in the store window. This wasn't Bonnie. This couldn't be her. This doll was too stiff, too silent. Even in sleep Bonnie was never completely still like this.

Suddenly Rhett wanted his mother. He wanted Scarlett to hold him in her arms. He wanted to push the tragedy from his mind. It wasn't that he wanted to forget Bonnie, but the grief was so encompassing that for a moment he wanted to escape. He needed his mother so that he could cry into her skirt, and have someone there for him.

"Oh, Bonnie." He softly breathed, his voice almost gone from his sobbing. "Oh, Bonnie."

He stood transfixed, staring at her ivory skin. She was so pale that he could do nothing but stare at her. They had used something to make her cheeks look like they were still flushed with life, a rouge of some sort. But he knew that now there was nothing left but to take her home and say farewell. And she was so still, ever so still.


	21. Three Nights

_Author's Notes: It's amazing when you are writing something like this how much you end up pulling out of yourself. Thankfully I have never had to go through losing a child of my own. But Melanie's speech to Rhett is in large part what I thought of saying when my best friend lost her son when he was 2 days old. I very much am Melanie in this chapter. And this was probably the hardest chapter I have ever written. I think after post the next chapter, I will have to go back in time and do a happy moment for Rhett. This is all too dark._

_So I dedicate this chapter to Missy, who lost her child, and to Jaxon who although I only held him once, he'll be in my heart forever._

Three Nights

The world took on an indistinct shimmering quality, as if nothing was real and all was subjective. Grief and alcohol swallowed him its shadowy haze that seemed to permeate everything. Her death had debilitated him to a ghost himself, his fears and guilt shimmering under the surface like submerged rock threatening to rip the hull open and expose him.

When he first brought her home from the undertakers, they had carried the coffin into the parlor. But he wouldn't stand for it. How could he leave her down there in that box? His darling didn't need to be down there, she needed to be in the one place that she felt the safest. He gently lifted her from the box into his arms. She had felt so cold. Then he carried her up to his room and lay her gently on her bed. And the room was eerily silent.

This was so different from when he had brought her home from their trip. She had been so delighted to return to her mother, although he had been dreading it for his unpardonable actions of that night. But Bonnie had squirmed so that he could not keep his hold on her, so that he had had no choice but to set her down. He could still so clearly picture her face, alight with excitement and anticipation of seeing mother and Ella and Wade. And that poor kitten, what had happened to the kitten? Where had the poor thing gone?

Scarlett interrupted his musings with her protestation of his decision. "What are you doing?" She seemed confused and thrown off as she came into the room. Someone must have informed her of his actions.

His eyes were glazed over as he told her in a flat voice, he had nothing left to fight for except for Bonnie, "I am laying Bonnie in her bed."

"She needs to be downstairs in the parlor. She needs to be in her coffin." There was a fear in Scarlett's eyes. She was looking at him oddly, as if he was a crazy man to be protecting his daughter like this.

"She belongs in my room, not in a coffin." He told her coldly. Then he turned to Mammy and ordered that she insure that no one move Bonnie while he was gone as he fled to a place where he could wallow in his grief, and allow himself to be engulfed by the welcoming tides of spirits. And they swallowed him wholly. He welcomed the relief of this break from reality, and for a moment he could convince himself into believing that she was only sleeping, and the last several hours had been nothing but a nightmare, a fabrication of his tortured mind. Bonnie was not gone. Bonnie could not be gone. It could not be true. And if for a moment he considered that he was hiding from the truth, he would pour another glass to wipe the thought from his mind.

But the illusion could only last so long, because he still had to stay with her throughout the night. He had to be there to shake her from her nightmares and wipe away the tears. For God sake, Scarlett was of no use as a mother. Bonnie, his darling Bonnie needed him. She was counting on him, and he would not disappoint her.

Finally Belle cut him off, "Rhett, darling. Why don't you go spend time with her while you still can." She advised him gently.

He nodded at her with red-rimmed eyes. "Bonnie needs me." He rose unsteadily from the table; the world was spinning much too fast. He didn't even know how he had made it back to the house, the ghastly monstrosity where nothing but horror happened. Bonnie needed him. She needed her daddy. She always needed her daddy. He was her best sweetheart.

He burst into the house, flinging the doors open wide like a mad man. His eyes blood-shot and wild in the dark depths. He ran up the stairs to his room, and shoved the door open, desperate to be at her side again. The room was shrouded in darkness, and the windows were shuttered allowing no light to enter. He shook his head. "Bring lights. Bring lots of lights. And, by God you keep them burning. And don't draw shades and shutters. Don't you know my Bonnie's afraid of the dark? It's too dark in here," he yelled. "Bonnie's afraid of the dark. Don't you know she's afraid of the dark. She'll be terrified. How could you leave her in the dark when you know she's so scared of it?"

Mammy went rushing off as fast as her legs would carry her for candles. He opened all of the shutters, allowing all of the available light into the room. Scarlett stood there staring at him in dismay. Then finally Mammy was back with the dozen candles that she had gathered. He took them from her and angrily yelled, "Get!"

He slammed the door and sat beside Bonnie, stroking her ebony curls. She still looked so beautiful. He knelt his head and stared into nothingness, the night gathering around him, holding him hostage. He began to stare at her, trying to convince himself that the pallor was an illusion, a mere trick of the light. The alcohol was wearing off and he couldn't deny that the lack of shadowing on her face was caused by something natural. He stroked her cool skin with his hand, and it terrified him.

Suddenly there pounding on the door, pounding and a sobbing on the other side, "Let me see my baby! Let me in you bastard! Let me see my daughter!" Scarlett screamed, her hands pounding against the wood.

"I'm never going to let you see her again. I'm not letting you take her." He horsely rasped, Scarlett didn't seem to understand fear. She wasn't afraid of anything. She would let Bonnie stay in the dark alone. Didn't she understand?

"Let me in! Let me in!" Her voice growing shriller and shriller as the pounding grew weaker and weaker.

"Get away from the door, or I will rip you to shreds." He threatened.

"I need to see her. Let me see her! Let me in! Please!" There was a brokenness to her voice, a hollowness that that he understood.

"Rhett, we have to talk about the funeral." She pleaded.

"There will be no funeral. I'm not putting my baby in the ground, in the dark. She's afraid of the dark. How can you be so heartless? I'm not letting you in here to do that to her. I won't allow it."

He went silent and refused to open the door, and finally she left.

Later Mammy came to the door offering food, but he had no desire for food when Bonnie would never eat again. He wanted nothing, nothing but for Bonnie to wake and laugh at him for being so silly to think that he thought that she was dead.

He turned away everyone who came to the door, refusing to listen to anything anyone wanted to say. As far he was concerned there was no need for a funeral. He needed Bonnie and she needed him. Why would he put her in the dark, when she was so afraid of it? His brave little Bonnie, he couldn't do that to her.

All through the night, he sat watching her-- watching as the candle light flickered and danced. He thought of the life she would have had -- should have had. He thought of every memory and every moment that they had had together. And he stared at her lifeless form, willing for her to awaken.

If he really looked at her, he could not pretend in his rational mind that she was only asleep. And so he tried to hide from his mind. He tried to think of anything other than death, anything other than that. He thought of the time together two years prior on the trip they took together. He had been a different man then. He was angry at Scarlett, but he still had loved her so completely, so totally. Even his love for Bonnie had been distinct from the obsession it had become. She had been so charming, so utterly guileless, that she had won over every person they had encountered.

He could still remember how her adoration of him had sparkled in her eyes, like stars in the night sky. It had been such a precious time, such a treasured memory in his heart. He remembered sitting for a portrait, how Bonnie had struggled to sit completely still. She wanted to be up and moving, instead of carefully posed on an uncomfortable stool.

But the pictures had been striking. The camera had captured her life and vibrancy in its frame, enabling all the world to see her beauty. At least he still had the picture. And he stared at it, where it sat in prominence on his dresser. Carefully positioned so that it obscured the picture beside it that he hadn't yet had the heart to remove. He couldn't see it well because of Bonnie's picture, but he didn't need to. It was etched into his heart, the portrait of himself and Scarlett on the honeymoon. It had been Bonnie's favorite thing to look at, mesmerized by her parents beauty. But he would get ride of them, he couldn't stand to look at them any longer.

When the sun rose, and he was certain that she wouldn't be afraid, he left the room to return to Belle's to wash these images and thoughts from his mind. He drank glass after glass of whatever anyone would pour for him or he could find. The table in front of him was wet with the flow of his tears. People came to him and offered him their condolences, but he didn't even see them, couldn't have recognized if he had. He was so consumed by his grief that he was oblivious to everything else. He thought of no one or anything other than his pain.

When the sun began to fade, he returned home to a house full of people all clamoring for his attention. He had no patience for them; his thoughts were only for Bonnie.

And she was still there, absolutely silent, absolutely still. He went and sat beside her bed and stared at his daughter's face, before rising and lighting the lanterns and the many candles. Once this task was complete, he returned to his seat began thinking again of the life that he had imagined that she would have: her first hunt, her wedding, her first child. It all blurred together into a montage of a life that would never be lived.

He sat up through the night watching her, ignoring the world around him, as if she needed him to be there to soothe away her nightmares. But he was the one living a nightmare.

He left at sunrise to immerse himself in more alcohol, more numbness to wipe away the grief and sadness. He needed to purge his mind of all of the plans that he had dreamed, hide from this hell of his own making until it was time to return to her side.

Scarlett met him in the upstairs hallway as he was coming in. She looked like a ghost walking. She slipped inside the room with him, before he had a chance to stop her. Her voice shook, but she continued with her mission. "The funeral had been set for tomorrow morning."

He turned on her with a sudden blaze of malice. His eyes blazed wildly, "Do that, and I will kill you tomorrow."

"Rhett, we don't have choice." Her voice softened. "She has to be buried. I don't want her to be dead, but she is. There is nothing we can do to change that. Keeping here in this room doesn't change what happened." She looked at him, imploring him with her eyes for him to let Bonnie go.

"How heartless can you be? She's afraid of the dark. I can't put her in the dark. I can't leave her there." Rhett sounded like a terrified child.

"Rhett, she is dead. Won't you be reasonable?" Scarlett tried.

"I can't let her go. Maybe its easier for you because you didn't really love her, but I can't just put her in a hole in the ground." He told her.

"You're a fine one to take on like this, after killing her to please your damned pride." She shot back at him.

"Have you no mercy? Have you no heart? How can you just turn your back on her like this? What kind of person can let their child go like this?" He asked with tears in his eyes.

She looked at him with anger clouding everything. "No, apparently not, and I haven't got my child either. I'm tired of the way that you have been acting since she died. You're causing a scandal in town. You are drunk all of the time, and if you don't think that I know where you have been spending your days, then you are fool. I know that you have been at Belle Watling's."

"Yes, that's where I've been, and you don't need to act so concerned. I know that you don't give a damn about me. A whore house is haven of refuge after this house of hell. And Belle has one of the world's kindest hearts, even if she is a madam. I can't say the same about you. She doesn't throw it in my face that I killed my child." He said angrily.

"You are comparing me to your whore." Scarlett accused.

He laughed a hollow brittle laugh. "She's a damn better woman than you, the insult would be to her, not you."

"Have you gone crazy, completely mad? Our daughter is dead. She is dead. There is no changing it, or escaping from the fact. We have to bury her. The funeral is tomorrow. I don't care whether you are there, but it is going to happen." Scarlett's eyes bored holes into him.

"Then I will kill you." He said it simply, coldly, no feeling in the statement at all.

"I don't care." There was a tinge of hysteria in her voice as she said it. "She is my child too. I'm only doing what I must. I wish I had spent more time with her, given her more attention. But I didn't. It's too late now. And her funeral is in the morning." Scarlett, pale and very shaken, stalked out of the room, telling Mammy that the funeral to proceed as scheduled.

Immediately after Scarlett left, Mammy entered the room. "Mist' Rhett, Ah/s come ter confess." He swung around at the sound of her voice.

"Get!" He bellowed, past the point of reason.

"Please, suh, Mist' Rhett, let me tell you. It's 'bout ter kill me. It wuz me as sceered Lil Miss of de dahk." Mammy confessed bowing her head down as if she was afraid that he was going to hit her.

He didn't say anything in response, and she continued. "Ah din' mean no hahm. But, Mist' Rhett, dat chile din' have no caution an' she wuzn' sceered of nuthin'. An' she wuz allus gittin' outer baid affer eve'ybody sleep an runnin' roun' de house barefoot. An' it worrit me, kase Ah 'fraid she hu't herseff. So Ah tells her dar's ghos'es an' buggerboos in de dahk."

His face changed in that moment, he seemed to calm down. He approached her and put his hand on her arm to let her know that he understood. "She was so brave, wasn't she? Except for the dark, she wasn't scared of anything."

Mammy began crying, tears streaming from her eyes. "Now,Mammy don't you carry on so. I'm glad that you told me. I know that you loved Bonnie, and because you love her, it doesn't matter. It's what is in the heart that matters."

A small amount of reason returned to him at that moment. Mammy understood. Mammy knew how afraid of the dark Bonnie was. She loved Bonnie. She wouldn't want Bonnie to be afraid.

"Mist Rhett, suh, what 'bout de fune'l?" She asked.

He turned on her like a crazy man. His eyes glittered with anger and betrayal. "Good God! I thought you'd understand even if nobody else did! Do you think I'm going to put my child away in the dark when she so scared of it? Right now, I can hear the way she used to scream when she woke up in the dark I'm not going to have her scared!" He pushed Mammy out the door of the room. "Get the hell out of here!"

Rhett locked the door behind her. He lit all of the lights, and sat vigil at her side. He tried to think of pleasant memories. He tried to make himself think of a funeral, but every time the thought crossed him mind, he could here her shrieks ringing in his ears. He sat his head cradled in his hands until a soft knocking sounded at the door. "Please let me in, Captain Butler. It's Mrs. Wilkes. I want to see Bonnie."

He would allow her in. She could see Bonnie. He knew that she cared. And so he swung the door open and looked down at her. Taking her by the arm, he led her inside the room, shutting the door behind them. He was unsteady on his feet, and he had exceeded his limits with the alcohol. Everything was fuzzy around the edges, like staring through an irregular window pane.

Once the door was closed, Melanie wrapped her thin arms around him. "Oh, Captain Butler, I am so sorry." Tears sparkled on her eyelashes as he clung to her as a broken man. They stood that way for several minutes, as her compassion seemed to seep into him, pulling down the barriers of his resistance and solitude. And most terrifying of all, it made him open his eyes and see the reality that he had been hiding from.

He looked at her, his eyes struggling to focus through the haze of the alcohol. "I killed her." He whispered brokenly. I killed my daughter."

"Hush, Captain Butler, you did not kill her. You musn't say such things." Melanie's words were the words he longed to hear, had to hear. He couldn't live with the agony he was feeling.

"But I did Mrs. Wilkes. I did kill her. Scarlett's right, I killed my own daughter. I am a murderer."

"Captain Butler, you would never harm a hair on that child's head." Melanie whispered.

"No, you don't understand. I told that she was too young to raise the bar. I told her that Mr. Butler's legs weren't long enough. But she begged me to let her, and you know I didn't have the heart to say no. I never could tell her no." He confessed in a horrified whisper. "They don't understand, they don't know what I've done. Or if they do, they can't understand how it tears at my heart, how I am terrified of hurting her even more."

"Captain Butler, you loved her. You had no intention of allowing her to be harmed. If you had realized the danger, you would have moved heaven and earth to stop her. She wouldn't be angry at you. She loved you too much. But please, you must eat something."

Rhett nodded at her, and she rose quickly, poking her head out the door, instructing Mammy, "Bring me a pot of coffee, quickly, and some sandwiches."

They were silent for a very long time before Rhett finally said, "I don't deserve to eat. My Bonnie can't eat. I've taken everything from her that I meant to give her."

"Now Captain Butler, Bonnie loved you so. She couldn't stand for you to be torturing yourself like this."

There was a knock at the door, and Melanie swiftly rose and opened the door and took the tray. She set it down on the night stand, and Rhett stared at the food. He finally picked one of the sandwiches up at Melanie's coaxing and began nibbling at it around the corners. He hadn't eaten anything since breakfast that morning of the accident. It felt strange to eat again, his stomach was churning and yet at the same time, suddenly ravenous. Melanie continued talking to him in soft tones as he ate. "Captain Butler, I know that Scarlett said things that she shouldn't have said, and I imagine you also said things that should be taken back. But you are both grieving for your child. You were both terrified and angry and lashing out, as if that might make the pain subside. But it didn't. I know you loved her. I know you loved her, possibly more than any father has ever loved a child. And Scarlett loved her too."

Rhett shook his head at this notion. "No, she didn't."

"Oh, Captain Butler, you know that this is only the grief speaking. Do you think that this is how Bonnie would want to be remembered?" Melanie cast a glance at the stiff little form lying on the bed. "Bonnie should be remembered as she was in life. You have to remember how she looked when you would walk into a room. Think about how she used to kiss your cheek. Captain Butler, remember how much you loved her."

Rhett stared at Melanie, tears welling in his eyes once more.

"I'm sorry. I loved her too. And I don't want her to be gone. I can't even begin to understand how much pain you are feeling. I can't imagine how badly I would feel if I were to lose Beau." Melanie looked at her hands, more tears shimmering as they fell from her eyes. "But keeping her in here, will not bring her back. She isn't afraid of the dark anymore. Where she is, there is no dark." Melanie's face lit from inside as she spoke of the after life, as if a beam of heavenly light had fallen upon her, breaking through the roof and ceiling to shine upon an angel sent to live among mortals. "She isn't afraid, and she isn't hurting. She is even more happy than she was here. You have nothing to fear. You aren't hurting her more, you are only releasing her." Melanie's voice grew softer, yet. "I have no right to tell you this. I have never lost a child, but you loved her so completely here, that she never knew anything but love. Every day of her life, she was loved without reserve. I wish that could be said of all children. She never knew what it was like to be disliked or outcast or lonely. She never saw war or hate or sadness. You gave your child a life that every parent wishes to give their child. No child could have been loved more. And she loved all of you back in return. She would hate to see the way you are hurting, although I know that doesn't stop it. But Captain Butler, you need to rest, for Bonnie's her memory. You haven't slept in days, and you need to be strong for Bonnie's sake, and for Wade and Ella and Scarlett. They still need you. And Bonnie would want you to take care of them."

Rhett sighed softly, as acceptance began creeping in. "The funeral can proceed." His voice was no louder than a whisper. His eyes began to droop, even as he spoke. He was defeated, and he knew that he could no longer hide from the fact that she was completely gone to him.

"Go to sleep, Captain Butler." Melanie said in a soothing voice.

He shook his head. "Someone has to stay with her. She can't be alone. Please understand." Rhett pleaded.

"I'll sit up with her, if you will only lay down. I will stay here all night by her side."

Rhett nodded slowly, as if each movement was slowed down by some external force. Then he answered by lowering his body wearily to the bed and removing his boots and dropping them with a soft thud. He took one last look at Bonnie,ever so pale and tranquil. She wasn't afraid any longer. Then he closed his exhausted eyes.

He heard her softly speaking to someone outside the door that he had agreed, and then the blackness over took him, enveloping him like a blanket.


	22. Black Feathers and Blue Velvet

Black Feathers and Blue Velvet

The procession down Peachtree Street was a somber affair. The pall bearers walked in front of the hearse, clothed in black. And then there was a gold inlay on the black glass-sided hearse that was filled to overflowing with white and blue flowers. Beneath the sea of flowers, a piece of blue velvet was draped over the coffin. Six black horses pulled the hearse, and the horses had black ostrich feather plumes on their heads.

For a moment Rhett thought of the picture in Bonnie's storybook of Snow White lying in a glass-sided coffin, waiting for her prince to come and wake her. But Bonnie would not be awakened by a kiss. No this would not end with happily ever after, what ever that might be.

He couldn't help thinking that the coffin was too small, that no coffin should ever be that small. The fact that children died all of the time, did not occur to him, for it was his daughter that lay there in silence. He sat silently in the first carriage behind the hearse. The heavy curtains were drawn, sheltering the family from the stares of onlookers that had gathered to witness this procession.

But it wasn't the onlookers that he wanted to hide from. It was his wife – his child's mother. Scarlett was beside him, her back held stiffly. The heavy veil of her bonnet, however, did help to obscure her from his sight and the rest of the world. She was covered in black crepe from head to toe. They rode in absolute silence. Wade and Ella sat across from them, afraid to make even the smallest noise. Ella was dressed in white trimmed with black on the edges. Wade's clothes were of somber black.

Rhett found it hard to look at Scarlett's other children. Why had they been spared when his Bonnie was gone? It wasn't that he wanted them to die, for he held each of them in a place in his heart. But if one of Scarlett's children had to be taken, why had it been his Bonnie? At the moment, his heart was so overshadowed with his grief that it took all of his strength to be sitting in the carriage. He was thankful that Scarlett had not spoken to him at all.

He felt nothing; his heart was finally numb. Bonnie was dead, and he was a murderer. There was no denying the truth. And he felt the guilt and the force of his crimes pressing against him. His mind was in agony as his own soul branded him for life with the crime of his daughter's untimely death. .

When they arrived at the cemetery, Rhett stepped outside the carriage. He turned and held out his hand to help Scarlett down, and then he lifted Ella from the carriage. Wade followed them out, and then they followed the pall bearers who carried the small coffin on their shoulders. They moved like marionettes in a silent march to the graveside.

Neither Scarlett nor Rhett spoke at all. He listened in numb silence as words were spoken in Bonnie's memory. He clutched in his hand a locket that Melanie had given to him containing a lock of Bonnie's hair, one single black curl. He could see Scarlett's shoulders shaking. He knew that she was crying, but he was too numb to do anything. He stared at the small coffin, perched over a hole that was much too large. He shut his eyes and tried to block out the memories of her cries. He couldn't do this.

But he could and he would, if for no other reason than for the sake of Bonnie's memory. He felt his mother's hand on his arm. He knew, although he hadn't spoken to them, that Scarlett's sister and Will were on the other side of Scarlett.

He watched with no feeling as Melanie came forward and helped Scarlett to remain standing. She was carrying on like she had lost something irreplaceable. And Bonnie was irreplaceable, but not to her. She hadn't wanted the child. She only taken pride in their daughter because she was pretty and intelligent and charming.

Will moved behind Scarlett, just in case, Rhett assumed, that she were to faint. But she wouldn't. She was too strong to be moved by her child's death. Nothing ever moved her. She had already buried two husbands and both of her parents, she was jaded to death. But he hadn't lost anyone before other than his father. These feelings were so humbling, so devastating.

But he was also thankful that Scarlett's face was hidden, because if he could see her face it would only make him think of Bonnie. Her dimples would make him think of Bonnie's dimples. He had been so proud that Bonnie was so beautiful, but now it haunted him that her mother was so similar.

Finally the service was over, and they lowered the coffin into the ground. Rhett noticed with pain that the undertaker was using fewer men than normal for this task. Instead the men working, seemed unstrained by the job. Scarlett walked away hurriedly, fleeing from his side. Melanie followed closely at her heels, ushering Wade and Ella and Beau away from the grave. Rhett reached down and grabbed a handful of the red Georgia clay and let the dirt trickle through his fingers, falling down on the coffin below. And then the air was filled with the soft thuds as the undertaker began filling the grave in.

Finally, everyone was gone. The red earth was mounded over the hole and Rhett still stood where he had been standing since the service from that morning. He knew that when he left it was all over. And he wasn't ready to move yet. He still hadn't said his goodbye. Finally, he knelt beside the grave and whispered softly, "Daddy's got you. Daddy won't let anything hurt you. Daddy loves you. Give your best sweetheart a kiss." He kissed his palm and gently laid it on top of the mound of clay and bowed his head. She was gone, forever gone. Black crepe and feathers now replaced the blue velvet, black onyx and jet replaced blue sapphires and brilliant emeralds, taking her forever from him. She was gone for all time.


	23. On a Ship in the Dark

_Author's Note: This is obviously completely out of the chronology, and this isn't a yay happy, don't you just love Rhett and Scarlett. But I think it gives good insight into his character and gives a good time to see him before he really knows Scarlett more than the encounter at Twelve Oaks._

He sat, a glowing cigar in his hand the only light aside from the stars, on the deck of the boat shrouded in the darkness of night. There was a certain thrill, a risk, an adventure to his life right now. And it also helped that this was turning out to be a highly profitable situation. The collapse of a civilization could always be lucrative for the right person. And he was the right man, he had little fear. And he knew these waters better than just about anyone else. He risked his life daily, but suddenly when he returned, he was hailed as a hero and patriot. Two things that he was most certainly not.

This war would end badly for the South, there was no doubt in his mind of the fact. The war had started less than a year ago, and already he was surprised that the Confederacy had lasted this long. But they were a stubborn sort. Perhaps there was more to being a Southerner than arrogance. They were also a very stubborn and determined lot, that much could certainly be said for them. They were also fools, but some part of him was willing to acknowledge their reckless courage in the face of such unsurmountable odds.

The air was cool off the ocean waters. A faint mist tinged with salt met his nostrils. This was where he drew his strength from. This ship, being on the water, acted on him as Antaeus's mother acted upon Antaeus, or as Samson drew his strength from his hair. Here is where he was strong and confident and completely in control. Here he was the master.

He had been so young when he left home, so young and foolishly naive. But he had learned quickly. He had had no other choice. He had left the cool polite society of Charleston of tea parties and the Season for the fierce wild life that had no other rule than kill or be killed. There was blood on his hands, there had been no other choice. But in the west each man was a law unto himself. And that had clung to him, there was now no higher law in his life than that of his own making. He was a maverick.

Few things of the polite society that had shunned him once even interested him any longer. It was all a series of pointless rules and ridiculous observances. None of this made any of the matrons and gentleman better people, it only hid them behind a mask. Each simpering Belle, who hid intelligence behind a mask of idiocy that was of no value to anyone, only made him wish for someone who actually possessed life and vitality.

Strangely, he had found one such girl who was trapped into the same society that had rejected him. A girl with the emerald up-turned eyes of a cat. In fact there was something decidedly feline about her, a predatory nature that was in contrast with her decidedly feminine air. She exuded a sharpness and intelligence and passion that intrigued him. She was not the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, but that was irrelevant. Her face was arresting, an odd combination of angles, that were not fully blended. And she did have a desirable body, she possessed a minuscule waist along with an ample bosom, that alone was enough to send his pulse racing when in close proximity. But beautiful bodies were easy to come by. Her mind, her spirit, her will was of greater interest than her body, alluring as it was. An intelligence and will like hers was a rare find indeed. But of course, the chances of his life intersecting with hers again were infinitesimal.

He wondered what would come of the South before this war had ended. War was not a glamorous, glorious thing as politicians tried to make it out to be. It was dirty and hard, offering little other than certain blood and gore. Death was not an honor; death was gruesome and ignominious. Death was death no matter how or where you died. It did not bring a soldier back to his bride or a father back to his child. There was no glory in death.

The civilization of the South would be crumbled, decimated by the atrocities of war that were sure to come, had already started happening. There was nothing pleasant about war. And the war would be fought in the south on southern soil. Farm yards would become battlefields, and the civilians would pay the price as well. A noble cause to promote the righteous nature of the war did not make a war righteous. The Holy wars had not been righteous any more than this Civil War was. States rights were not worth the price of the many lives that would be the toll extracted, nor would the liberation of the slaves in such a manner pay the price of the northern sons. But men were as a whole a bullheaded lot, choosing to fight rather than explore the nuances of diplomacy and compromise. They would all pay for their pride.

And he would stand on the sidelines, navigating these treacherous waters, watching it all happen as his bank account grew, and as he continued to live his life on the very edge of existence, tempting fate at every turn. After all, he was Rhett Butler.


	24. Longing to Dance

**Author's Note: Sorry this is a long one. And it's only the first half of the scene. More to come soon. No sad Rhett here. Enjpy!**

Defiance

And a what, Johnny Booker, won't you do, do, do,  
And a what, Johnny Booker won't you do?

I drove him up to the foot of the hill  
And I holler at the mule and the mule stopped still.

And a-what, Johnny Booker, won't you do, do, do,  
And a-what, Johnny Booker won't you do?

The music was already rollicking through the air as Rhett stepped into the old barn of the armory that had for the moment been converted into a ballroom. He was dressed meticulously in clothes that made him appear as a dandy which he knew was in contradiction with his size and strength. He did not venture any further into the room; instead he remained in the doorway for a moment as he surveyed his surroundings like a predator.

He was an outcast after all. He wasn't even welcome in his own home. He wasn't received, but that was of no matter. He liked to be the outcast. Living without a reputation was much more interesting then life as a gentleman. It amused him that these people seemed to think that his actions were heroic when his true motivations were merely for profit and for the thrill. He was not a patriotic sort. This was the very society that had shunned him, and yet now it was lauding him as a hero.

The room was decorated with what looked like the candlesticks and potted plants from every respectable home in the city. The windows were open, allowing the warm June air to spill into the room. The scent of bayberries and other greenery from the woods filled the senses with the pungent fragrances. Hanging from the ceiling was a massive, hideous lamp that had been covered quite well with twining ivy and wild grapevines, considering that this had obviously not been meant to be a place of dancing and beauty. And of course there were portraits of the president and vice-president of the Confederacy in their own places of distinct honor.

His eyes scanned the booths to see if there was perhaps anything interesting in one of them. He was startled when his eyes found a face that he had only seen once before, propped by small black gloved hands as she leaned her elbows on the counter, surrounded in black mourning, hidden behind a booth covered in pink and yellow cheese cloth. She stood out from every other face in the crowd. There was an alertness, an utterly compelling vitality about her. And there was a look on her face that revealed that she was not as caught up in the fervor of the Cause as those around her were. She was hungry to see life, so different from what the dictates of society demanded. She was like him. She wasn't here to be patriotic or to help the hospital. No she was here to dance. On her face was an expression that was both sulky and rebellious. She was meant to be alive, not mired in the drapings of widowhood. Such an arresting face. A woman of such great spirit and vitality. This was serendipitous indeed. His eyes twinkled at the sight of her, a mixture of malice and desire.

And she wanted to dance, desperately wanted to dance. He could see the way her eyes searched the crowd hungrily, wanting to flirt and dance and be the belle she had been the last time that he had seen her. But she could not dance, and she was as mad as a wet hen about it.

Under the intensity of his scrutiny, she threw a gay smile at him, and then made a little curtsy as he bowed towards her. Did she remember their last encounter?

And then he had his answer as he made his way towards her. One of her small hands went to her mouth in horror. She recognized him now, and she was frozen. Suddenly she turned trying to escape now that she remembered, but her skirt caught on a nail. She jerked on it, still trying to escape, and it tore. But then he was there beside her.

"Permit me," he said bending over and disentangling the flounce. His hand brushing softly against the dull fabric of her black gown. "I hardly hoped that you would recall me, Miss O'Hara." She was as every bit as lovely as his mind had remembered, even in black, which did not suit her.

She looked up at him imploringly, her face crimson with the shame of their last meeting, and met his eyes that were dancing in merciless merriment.

However then there came a distraction as Melanie, also mired in black, turned at the sound of his voice. "Why--it's--it's Mr. Rhett Butler, isn't it?" said Melanie with a little smile, putting out her hand. "I met you--"

She truly was a lady, despite her young age. Like the life that exuded from Scarlett, kindness and sweetness exuded from this sweet woman. It was impossible to miss. She was kind and there was something about her that commanded his respect. "On the happy occasion of the announcement of your betrothal," he finished, bending over her hand. "It is kind of you to recall me."

"And what are you doing so far from Charleston, Mr. Butler?"

"A boring matter of business, Mrs. Wilkes. I will be in and out of your town from now on. I find I must not only bring in goods but see to the disposal of them." And enjoy the benefits of the disposal in his wallet he thought wryly.

"Bring in--" began Melly, her brow wrinkling, and then she broke into a delighted smile. "Why, you--you must be the famous Captain Butler we've been hearing so much about--the blockade runner. Why, every girl here is wearing dresses you brought in. Scarlett, aren't you thrilled--what's the matter, dear? Are you faint? Do sit down."

Scarlett sank to the stool, her breath coming rapidly. She was obviously terrified that he would reveal the secrets of her encounter with the sad Mr. Wilkes.

"It is quite warm in here," he said. "No wonder Miss O'Hara is faint. May I lead you to a window?" How he would love to lead her away from this room, she was such an intriguing little vixen, but instead he stood over her, fanning her with her own fan of black-dyed ostrich feathers.

"No," said Scarlett.

"She is not Miss O'Hara any longer," said Melly. "She is Mrs. Hamilton. She is my sister now," and Melly bestowed one of her fond little glances on her.

"I am sure that is a great gain to two charming ladies," said he, making a slight bow. How was it that this spitfire had married? And which of those boys had she fallen for? Of course Scarlett being in the same house with her love's wife must make it easier for this green-eyed predator to continue her pursuit.

"Your husbands are here tonight, I trust, on this happy occasion? It would be a pleasure to renew acquaintances."

"My husband is in Virginia," said Melly with a proud lift of her head. "But Charles--" Her voice broke.

"He died in camp," said Scarlett flatly.

That explained the black. It was a wonder that they were here at all. But the grief didn't reach her eyes, her husband must not have captured her heart. But the same could not be said of he sister-in-law. The grief was still fresh in her eyes. "My dear ladies--how could I! You must forgive me. But permit a stranger to offer the comfort of saying that to die for one's country is to live forever." Such a pathetic platitude when compared to his true feelings, but this was not the time nor the place for such a discourse. Nor would he ever say such a thing to Mrs. Wilkes, but somehow he believed that Scarlett deep down felt the same way as he did.

Even watching them was a paradox, Melanie smiled at him through sparkling tears while Scarlett glared at him with malice. He knew that she could not have loved her husband; the thought that she actually had was preposterous. She did not look like a grieving widow. No, she looked like a child who had just been told that she could not play with her favorite toy. And there was a look in her eyes, a fear that he would reveal her secrets of that day at the barbecue, even while he swished the fan.

Abruptly she snatched the fan from his hand. "I'm quite all right," she said tartly. "There's no need to blow my hair out of place." Ever the vain child, he was certain that was something unchangeable about her.

"Scarlett, darling! Captain Butler, you must forgive her. She-- she isn't herself when she hears poor Charlie's name spoken—and perhaps, after all, we shouldn't have come here tonight. We're still in mourning, you see, and it's quite a strain on her—all this gaiety and music, poor child."

"I quite understand," he said, a hint of mocking in his manner, but he knew that Scarlett would be the only one aware of it. But then he turned to Melanie, she obviously was grieving and trying to take care of this hard-hearted spoiled woman-child. Reluctant respect and gentleness coming over his dark face. "I think you're a courageous little lady, Mrs. Wilkes."

Melly smiled in confusion and answered, "Dear me, no, Captain Butler! The hospital committee just had to have us for this booth because at the last minute-- A pillow case? Here's a lovely one with a flag on it."

He shook his head, and then Melanie turned to three Calvary-men who came to look at her wares, while Scarlett sat quietly on the stool fanning herself, not daring to look up.

"Your husband has been dead long?"

"Oh, yes, a long time. Almost a year."

"An aeon, I'm sure." It was obvious her husband's death had cost her more in her social seclusion than in the grief over his passing.

A confused expression flickered across her face, but she said nothing.

"Had you been married long? Forgive my questions but I have been away from this section for so long." What fool idea had compelled her to marry so quickly, after her very clear attempts at stealing her now sister-in-law's husband from her.

"Two months," said Scarlett, unwillingly.

"A tragedy, no less," his easy voice continued, knowing that he was jesting at scars that had never felt a wound. For a moment he questioned where those words had sprung to his mind from, Ah, yes Romeo and Juliet, the eternal star-crossed lovers.

She said nothing, still looking down at her fan.

"And this is your first social appearance?" If she had been married for two months, and her husband had been dead almost a year, she should still be in deep mourning, or at very least just out of deep mourning.

"I know it looks quite odd," she explained rapidly. "But the McLure girls who were to take this booth were called away and there was no one else, so Melanie and I--"

"No sacrifice is too great for the Cause." Of course, he doubted her devotion to the Cause. More likely she was missing dancing and music and fun. She couldn't be very old, much too young to be hidden away and covered in this dreadful black, trying without success to look like her heart was in the grave. It was barbaric. "I have always thought," he said reflectively, "that the system of mourning, of immuring women in crepe for the rest of their lives and forbidding them normal enjoyment is just as barbarous as the Hindu suttee."

"Settee?" She asked innocently.

He laughed and she blushed for her ignorance. She was very much the country child, too ignorant and uneducated to be a proper lady in society in any other town more civilized and refined than Atlanta. "In India, when a man dies he is burned, instead of buried, and his wife always climbs on the funeral pyre and is burned with him."

"How dreadful! Why do they do it? Don't the police do anything about it?"

"Of course not. A wife who didn't burn herself would be a social outcast. All the worthy Hindu matrons would talk about her for not behaving as a well-bred lady should --precisely as those worthy matrons in the corner would talk about you, should you appear tonight in a red dress and lead a reel. Personally, I think suttee much more merciful than our charming Southern custom of burying widows alive!" He wanted to see her alluring in a brilliant green, that was the proper color for her. She needed to be allowed to celebrate that she was still alive, instead of drowning them in black crepe.

"How dare you say I'm buried alive!"

"How closely women crutch the very chains that bind them! You think the Hindu custom barbarous--but would you have had the courage to appear here tonight if the Confederacy hadn't needed you?" She still clung to the very society that was stifling her, burying her alive with a husband that she hadn't even loved. He wanted to set her free from this lie, give her back her youth and life.

"Of course, I wouldn't have come. It would have been—well, disrespectful to--it would have seemed as if I hadn't lov--"

His eyes waited on her words, cynical amusement in them, and yet she didn't continue. She couldn't do it, claiming that she loved her husband. "I am waiting breathlessly."

"I think you are horrid," she said, helplessly, dropping her eyes.

He leaned down across the counter until his mouth was near her ear and hissed, "Fear not, fair lady! Your guilty secret is safe with me!" And though he contained his impulse, he wanted to know how her velvety smooth skin would feel under the caress of hips lips. No woman in his storied history had ever called out to him as she did.

"Oh," she whispered, "how can you say such things!"

"I only thought to ease your mind. What would you have me say? 'Be mine, beautiful female, or I will reveal all?'" He teased. The thought amused him, and the more that he talked to her, the more she intrigued him -- the more he wanted to claim her for himself.

She met his eyes unwillingly, and she laughed. And he laughed too, and so loudly that several of the chaperons in the corner looked their way. Observing how good a time Charles Hamilton's widow appeared to be having with a perfect stranger, they put their heads together disapprovingly, but Rhett didn't care.

There was a roll of drums and many voices cried "Sh!" as Dr. Meade mounted the platform and spread out his arms for quiet. "We must all give grateful thanks to the charming ladies whose indefatigable and patriotic efforts have made this bazaar not only a pecuniary success," he began, "but have transformed this rough hall into a bower of loveliness, a fit garden for the charming rosebuds I see about me."

Everyone clapped approvingly, all the while Rhett was thinking of what a pompous old wind bag the man was.

"The ladies have given their best, not only of their time but of the labor of their hands, and these beautiful objects in the booths are doubly beautiful, made as they are by the fair hands of our charming Southern women."

There were more shouts of approval, and Rhett Butler who had been lounging negligently against the counter at Scarlett's side couldn't help but whisper: "Pompous goat, isn't he?"

She was startled at first, almost horrified. But then as she watched him she seemed to agree as she stifled a giggle.

He hadn't been listening. He had been paying more attention to Scarlett then anything as the old man droned on until he heard his name. "... Captain Rhett Butler!"

He still managed to make an elaborately graceful bow. How funny that these old pea hens and windbags praised him so highly, oh if only they knew his true motives. There was a loud burst of applause as he bowed and a craning of necks from the ladies in the corner obviously scandalized by the amount of time he was paying attention to this "new" widow. Hang them all!

The doctor continued on, asking that the ladies give up their jewelery for the Cause..." the lost Cause" he thought. And although everyone around him, with the exception of Scarlett, seemed very moved by the speech, eventually drowning him out with cheering an applause, he was not moved.

All over the room, girls were tearing encrusted clips from their hair and slipping necklaces and ear bobs into oak baskets that wounded men carried about. When one of them came around to the booth where Rhett was watching Scarlett, she simply shook her head. Of course she wouldn't have any on, she along with her sister-in-law were in mourning. Rhett tossed in a gold cigar case into the basket carelessly as if to fulfill their quota. But then she seemed to notice her hand, and she twisted at her wedding band, trying desperately to remove it. The soldier was continuing on past her, but then she called out.

"Wait!" cried Scarlett. "I have something for you!" The ring came off and, as she started to throw it into the basket, heaped up with chains, watches, rings, pins and bracelets, she caught his eye. His lips twisted into a slight smile, knowing that this was not a sacrifice to her. She was freeing herself from the shackle that the golden band had become. Defiantly, she tossed the ring onto the top of the pile.

"Oh, my darling!" whispered Molly, clutching her arm, her eyes blazing with love and pride. "You brave, brave girl! Wait-- please, wait, Lieutenant Picard! I have something for you, too!"

Melanie was tugging at her own wedding ring, a ring that most likely had not been removed since her husband had placed it there. It came off with difficulty and for a brief instant was clutched tightly in the small palm. Then it was laid gently on the pile of jewelry. The two girls stood looking after the soldier who was moving toward another group. He easily read their faces: Scarlett defiant, Melanie with a look more pitiful than tears.

"If you hadn't been brave enough to do it, I would never have been either," said Melly, putting her arm about Scarlett's waist. Scarlett in turn smiled sourly.

"What a beautiful gesture," said Rhett Butler, softly. "It is such sacrifices as yours that hearten our brave lads in gray." The words were true for Mrs. Wilkes, but they were in mockery to Mrs. Hamilton, the band only a reminder of what she had done in what Rhett assumed had been spite, pure and simple.

"Thank you," Scarlett responded sweetly, as if suddenly unaware of his mockery, which she had been on top of since the moment they began talking. "A compliment like that coming from so famous a man as Captain Butler is appreciated."

He threw back his head and laughed freely--yelped, was what Scarlett thought fiercely, her face becoming pink again. "Why don't you say what you really think?" he demanded, lowering his voice so that in the clatter and excitement of the collection, it came only to her ears. He wanted her to speak her mind. He enjoyed hearing her thoughts, it was such a refreshing change of pace."Why don't you say I'm a damned rascal and no gentleman and that I must take myself off or you'll have one of these gallant boys in gray call me out?"

"Why, Captain Butler! How you do run on! As if everybody didn't know how famous you are and how brave and what a--what a--

"I am disappointed in you," he said. Was she really that oblivious? No. Certainly not. She had seemed away of his true meanings earlier, but perhaps she was playing a game with him.

"Disappointed?"

"Yes. On the occasion of our first eventful meeting I thought to myself that I had at last met a girl who was not only beautiful but who had courage. And now I see that you are only beautiful." And it was a shame, because as much as he appreciated her beauty, her courage was much more alluring.

"Do you mean to call me a coward?" She was ruffling like a hen.

"Exactly. You lack the courage to say what you really think. When I first met you, I thought: There is a girl in a million. She isn't like these other silly little fools who believe everything their mammas tell them and act on it, no matter how they feel. And conceal all their feelings and desires and little heartbreaks behind a lot of sweet words. I thought: Miss O'Hara is a girl of rare spirit. She knows what she wants and she doesn't mind speaking her mind--or throwing vases." The memory of those moments were so vivid in his mind, as if they had happened only moments prior. She had a temper, and she was unafraid of what it might take to get the outcome that she wanted.

"Oh," she said, rage breaking through. "Then I'll speak my mind right this minute. If you'd had any raising at all you'd never have come over here and talked to me. You'd have known I never wanted to lay eyes on you again! But you aren't a gentleman! You are just a nasty ill-bred creature! And you think that because your rotten little boats can outrun the Yankees, you've the right to come here and jeer at men who are brave and women who are sacrificing everything for the Cause--"

"Stop, stop--" he begged with a grin. "You started off very nicely and said what you thought, but don't begin talking to me about the Cause. I'm tired of hearing about it and I'll bet you are, too--" The look on her face said it all. He was right, she was tired of the Cause. She had somehow figured out that she was not quite like everyone else, that she didn't feel the same Patriotic stirrings. She was too practical to be swept along with the other little ladies.

"Why, how did--" she sputtered.

"I stood there in the doorway before you saw me and I watched you," he said. "And I watched the other girls. And they all looked as though their faces came out of one mold. Yours didn't. You have an easy face to read. You didn't have your mind on your business, and I'll wager you weren't thinking about our Cause or the hospital. It was all over your face that you wanted to dance and have a good time and you couldn't. So you were mad clean through. Tell the truth. Am I not right?" He didn't need an answer though. He knew exactly what she had been thinking. There was no mystery there.

"I have nothing more to say to you, Captain Butler," she said formally. "Just because you're conceited at being the 'great blockader' doesn't give you the right to insult women."

"The great blockader! That's a joke. Pray give me only one moment more of your precious time before you cast me into darkness. I wouldn't want so charming a little patriot to be left under a misapprehension about my contribution to the Confederate Cause." She was too similar to himself not to appreciate his motivations at least to a point, besides he had the scene at Twelve Oaks to hold over her head. Not that it mattered, but she wouldn't be repeating what he confided, no matter what he said.

"I don't care to listen to your brags."

"Blockading is a business with me and I'm making money out of it. When I stop making money out of it, I'll quit. What do you think of that?" He was laying the cards on the table before her.

"I think you're a mercenary rascal--just like the Yankees."

"Exactly," he grinned, she was as sharp as he remembered. "And the Yankees help me make my money. Why, last month I sailed my boat right into New York harbor and took on a cargo."

"What!" cried Scarlett, both excited and interested. "Didn't they shell you?"

"My poor innocent! Of course not. There are plenty of sturdy Union patriots who are not averse to picking up money selling goods to the Confederacy. I run my boat into New York, buy from Yankee firms, sub rosa, of course, and away I go. And when that gets a bit dangerous, I go to Nassau where these same Union patriots have brought powder and shells and hoop skirts for me. It's more convenient than going to England. Sometimes it's a bit difficult running it into Charleston or Wilmington --but you'd be surprised how far a little gold goes."

"Oh, I knew Yankees were vile but I didn't know--"

"Why quibble about the Yankees earning an honest penny selling out the Union? It won't matter in a hundred years. The result will be the same. They know the Confederacy will be licked eventually, so why shouldn't they cash in on it?" He wanted her to know the truth, because she had a right to be aware of the situation that the South's bullheadedness had gotten them into. He wanted her to see the truth through her practical, unapologetic eyes.

"Licked--us?"

"Of course."

"Will you please leave me--or will it be necessary for me to call my carriage and go home to get rid of you?"

"A red-hot little Rebel," he said, with another sudden grin, amused at the way her bosom heaved under her dress at the rage he had incited. He bowed and sauntered off. He wanted to hold such a passionate creature in his arms. He wanted her to be his and his alone.

The gathering quieted again as the doctor raised his voice, at first in thanks to the ladies who had so willingly given their jewelry. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, I am going to propose a surprise-- an innovation that may shock some of you, but I ask you to remember that all this is done for the hospital and for the benefit of our boys lying there."

Everyone edged forward, in anticipation, trying to imagine what the sedate doctor could propose that would be shocking.

"The dancing is about to begin and the first number will, of course, be a reel, followed by a waltz. The dances following, the polkas, the schottisches, the mazurkas, will be preceded by short reels. I know the gentle rivalry to lead the reels very well and so--" The doctor mopped his brow and cast a quizzical glance at the corner. "Gentlemen, if you wish to lead a reel with the lady of your choice, you must bargain for her. I will be auctioneer and the proceeds will go to the hospital."

Fans stopped in mid-swish and a ripple of excited murmuring ran through the hall. Then suddenly the Home Guard gave a cheer and it was taken up by the other uniformed guests. The young girls clapped their hands and jumped excitedly.

Above the tumult a voice rose: "Eef I may--twenty dollars for Mees Maybelle Merriwether."

The girl collapsed with blushes against another girl's shoulder and the two girls hid their faces in each other's necks and giggled, as other voices began calling other names, other amounts of money. Dr. Meade had begun to smile again, ignoring completely the indignant whispers that came from the Ladies' Hospital Committee in the corner.

The numbers continued to rise, and Rhett sat back amused as he watched. He wanted to dance with Scarlett, and he knew that under the guise of the Cause she would accept. She wanted to dance too much to refuse. He looked over at her, the expression on her face one of longing and jealousy and disappointment, at what he assumed was the fact that she could not dance. He would do it. He called out in a voice that rang through the air above all of the other noises, "Mrs. Charles Hamilton--one hundred and fifty dollars--in gold."

to be continued.


	25. Defiance

**Author's Note: Here is the second half of the bazaar scene... hope you all enjoy. And yes I am terribly impatient. So here on the same day within less than an hour I am posting the second half. They should be enjoyed together, just like Rhett and Scarlett. :)**

He looked over at her, the expression on her face one of longing and jealousy and disappointment, at what he assumed was the fact that she could not dance. He would do it. He called out in a voice that rang through the air above all of the other noises, "Mrs. Charles Hamilton--one hundred and fifty dollars--in gold."

A sudden hush fell on the crowd both at the mention of the sum and at the name. Everybody turned to look at Scarlett, who looked shocked at what she had heard. The doctor leaned down and whispered to Rhett, "Another one of our belles, perhaps?" questioned the doctor.

But Rhett simply shrugged his massive shoulders lazily. "No," said Rhett clearly, his eyes sweeping the crowd carelessly. "Mrs. Hamilton."

"I tell you it is impossible," said the doctor testily. "Mrs. Hamilton will not--" then from the back of the room he heard a voice cry out, that at first he hadn't recognized as hers, "Yes, I will!"

She tossed her head and sped out of the booth, tapping her heels like castanets, snapping open her black silk fan to its widest. Then she was on the floor and they were almost to each other as the crowd split to let them pass. She swept him a low curtsy and a dazzling smile and he bowed, one hand on his frilled bosom.

As the band leader bawled: "Choose yo' padners fo' de Ferginny reel!" And the orchestra crashed into, "Dixie."

"How dare you make me so conspicuous, Captain Butler?"

"But, my dear Mrs. Hamilton, you so obviously wanted to be conspicuous!" She had wanted to dance so badly, he had seen it in her eyes. And he could feel the piercing stares of the corwd boring into his skin, but he didn't care. He got to hold her. He got to feel her in his arms. And he got to see those eyes sparkle like a child on Christmas morning. He couldn't have passed on such an oppourtunity.

"How could you call my name out in front of everybody?"

"You could have refused." He reminded her, knowing that she couldn't have, that she had wanted to feel young and alive again, since that was what she was.

"But--I owe it to the Cause--I--I couldn't think of myself when you were offering so much in gold. Stop laughing, everyone is looking at us."

"They will look at us anyway. Don't try to palm off that twaddle about the Cause to me. You wanted to dance and I gave you the opportunity. This march is the last figure of the reel, isn't it?" He didn't want it to end. It felt too right to have her in his arms. This is where she belonged, where she should always be. Somehow he felt as if destiny had breathed on him, that this was a moment pre-ordained from the beginning of time. They were meant for each other. He thought other thoughts as well, thoughts that if she had known would have made her blush. But for now, this would have to be sufficient.

"Yes--really, I must stop and sit down now."

"Why? Have I stepped on your feet?"

"No--but they'll talk about me."

"Do you really care--down in your heart?" He asked, knowing that she didn't really want to stop dancing either, that if she had it her way that this would never end-- just as he wanted for this moment to continue on into eternity.

"Well--"

"You aren't committing any crime, are you? Why not dance the waltz with me?"

"But if Mother ever--"

"Still tied to mamma's apron strings."

"Oh, you have the nastiest way of making virtues sound so stupid."

"But virtues are stupid. Do you care if people talk?" What did it matter what they all said if she got to be happy, got to live while she could. She was alive, and she deserved to act like it.

"No--but--well, let's don't talk about it. Thank goodness the waltz is beginning. Reels always leave me breathless."

"Don't dodge my questions. Has what other women said ever mattered to you?" Something about her made him want to release her from this prison of mourning and expectations that had no real relevance in life, all the while also wanted to pull her closer to his body, to feel the heat of her skin.

"Oh, if you're going to pin me down--no! But a girl is supposed to mind. Tonight, though, I don't care."

"Bravo! Now you are beginning to think for yourself instead of letting others think for you. That's the beginning of wisdom."

"Oh, but--"

"When you've been talked about as much as I have, you'll realize how little it matters. Just think, there's not a home in Charleston where I am received. Not even my contribution to our just and holy Cause lifts the ban." He confessed. And truly the only hurt was that his mother was one of the ones that turned him out. A part of him still felt like she should have stood up for him, that she should have held her ground. He wished that his mother had strength and courage like Scarlett. She was a rare one indeed with her iron will.

"How dreadful!"

"Oh, not at all. Until you've lost your reputation, you never realize what a burden it was or what freedom really is." And he loved the freedom to do exactly how he pleased, unfettered by the popular consensus.

"You do talk scandalous!"

"Scandalously and truly. Always providing you have enough courage--or money--you can do without a reputation." Life could be fun without a list of rules that must be abided at all times.

"Money can't buy everything."

"Someone must have told you that. You'd never think of such a platitude all by yourself. What can't it buy?"

"Oh, well, I don't know--not happiness or love, anyway."

"Generally it can. And when it can't, it can buy some of the most remarkable substitutes." All of which he felt was true, as long as the money continued.

"And have you so much money, Captain Butler?"

"What an ill-bred question, Mrs. Hamilton. I'm surprised. But, yes. For a young man cut off without a shilling in early youth, I've done very well. And I'm sure I'll clean up a million on the blockade." He informed her, knowing that money would be of interest to her. She didn't seem the type to stay poor if she could find any way to pull herself out from it.

"Oh, no!"

"Oh, yes! What most people don't seem to realize is that there is just as much money to be made out of the wreckage of a civilization as from the upbuilding of one." She seemed intrigued by it all, instead of appalled as any well bred lady should be.

"And what does all that mean?"

"Your family and my family and everyone here tonight made their money out of changing a wilderness into a civilization. That's empire building. There's good money in empire building. But, there's more in empire wrecking." He told her sagely. She was intelligent enough to be made aware of the realities of the world, even as unpleasant as it may seem.

"What empire are you talking about?"

"This empire we're living in--the South--the Confederacy—the Cotton Kingdom--it's breaking up right under our feet. Only most fools won't see it and take advantage of the situation created by the collapse. I'm making my fortune out of the wreckage."

"Then you really think we're going to get licked?"

"Yes. Why be an ostrich?" It was of no use to hide from the truth. Ignoring reality didn't make it any less real. And if he could turn a negative to a positive he would and proudly. He was not some gentleman that let the world around him crumble. He was a survivor. He was meant to come through no matter the obstacles, and she was like him. She had strngth in her that she didn't even see that she had.

"Oh, dear, it bores me to talk about such like. Don't you ever say pretty things, Captain Butler?"

"Would it please you if I said your eyes were twin goldfish bowls filled to the brim with the clearest green water and that when the fish swim to the top, as they are doing now, you are devilishly charming?"

"Oh, I don't like that. . . . Isn't the music gorgeous? Oh, I could waltz forever! I didn't know I had missed it so!"

"You are the most beautiful dancer I've ever held in my arms." He whispered. She was such a mixture of beauty and charm and courage and intelligence and determination. She was everything he had ever wanted in such a wonderful little package. Of course she could never know how she affected him or she would shred him as she had shredded the hearts of countless others, he was certain. But he pulled her a little closer, enjoying her closeness. There had never been another quite like her.

"Captain Butler, you must not hold me so tightly. Everybody is looking."

"If no one were looking, would you care?" Silly child to care what they thought. If they had nothing better to do than talk about this as a scandal then they needed to find another way to pccuoy their time. She needed this, as did he.

"Captain Butler, you forget yourself."

"Not for a minute. How could I, with you in my arms? . . . What is that tune? Isn't it new?" He didn't want to release her, he wanted her to stay with him forever. No one had ever captured his attention or possibly even his heart like this. It was a new feeling. A rushing heady feeling that made him feel almost tingly. She did something to him. He was under her power now.

"Yes. Isn't it divine? It's something we captured from the Yankees."

"What's the name of it?" He asked, trying to divert his mind from pondering what was happening to his heart and even his life in this very moment.

"'When This Cruel War Is Over.'"

"What are the words? Sing them to me." He wanted to hear her sing to him. He wanted this night to last forever. He wanted her voice to be only for him.

"Dearest one, do you remember

When we last did meet?

When you told me how you loved me,

Kneeling at my feet?

Oh, how proud you stood before me

In your suit of gray,

When you vowed from me and country

Ne'er to go astray.

Weeping sad and lonely,

Sighs and tears how vain!

When this cruel war is over

Pray that we meet again!"

"Of course, it was 'suit of blue' but we changed it to 'gray.' . . . Oh, you waltz so well, Captain Butler. Most big men don't, you know. And to think it will be years and years before I'll dance again."

"It will only be a few minutes. I'm going to bid you in for the next reel--and the next and the next." He smiled at her, knowing that she was trying to adhere to societies dictates, but her love of life was too strong to allow it.

"Oh, no, I couldn't! You mustn't! My reputation will be ruined."

"It's in shreds already, so what does another dance matter? Maybe I'll give the other boys a chance after I've had five or six, but I must have the last one." He knew he had won her over. She didn't want this night to end any more than he did. And he wanted time to stand still so he could always hold her, always know what it felt like to have her warm little body within the circle of his arms.

"Oh, all right. I know I'm crazy but I don't care. I don't care a bit what anybody says. I'm so tired of sitting at home. I'm going to dance and dance--"

"And not wear black? I loathe funeral crepe." He told her, thinking of the unfairness again of her being forced to cover herself in black.

"Oh, I couldn't take off mourning--Captain Butler, you must not hold me so tightly. I'll be mad at you if you do."

"And you look gorgeous when you are mad. I'll squeeze you again-- there--just to see if you will really get mad. You have no idea how charming you were that day at Twelve Oaks when you were mad and throwing things." There was such a sparkle in her eyes, such life. It nearly took his breath away. He had to have her. He would win her, something that had never been done before. He wasn't like all of her county beaux. He was a man, and he could make her feels things that only a man could make her feel. He wanted to bring that passion out. He wanted to make her love him with such passion that it obliterated all else.

"Oh, please--won't you forget that?"

"No, it is one of my most priceless memories--a delicately nurtured Southern belle with her Irish up-- You are very Irish, you know." He smiled at her, enjoying the sparkle as she stared at him.

"Oh, dear, there's the end of the music and there's Aunt Pittypat coming out of the back room. I know Mrs. Merriwether must have told her. Oh, for goodness' sakes, let's walk over and look out the window. I don't want her to catch me now. Her eyes are as big as saucers."

He grinned and led her away from the dance floor towards the windows. He wasn't ready for this night to end. He didn't want to let go of her. No matter what it cost he would one day have her as his own. She was too tempting for him to resist. He loved to watch the light dancing in her eyes where from joy or anger. The reason was irrelevant, as long as this passion shown through. This was one of those moments that he wanted to hold on to, even if it couldn't be everything he wanted, not tonight. But someday, someday this vixen, this completely intriguing minx of a girl would be his completely. And he would dance with her all night. No matter the cost; she would be his someday. Tonight was only the beginning.

Someday Scarlett O'Hara, the dear widow Hamilton, would be his alone to hold.


	26. Turned Out

:Author's Note: Sorry for such an extended delay. this past month and especially the past two weeks has been pure insanity in my life. I was building a float for my alma matter's homecoming parade ( on a happy not we won first place with our float), and I was sewing costumes for my kids (The 5 year old's tin man costume won a prize at the city wide contest). But my life should be getting back to normal so I should be updating again soon, as well as on all of my stories. Rumors of my demise have been greatly exagerated! :) this chapter just came to me.

He could have forced her. He could have made her change her mind, but what was the use. She would never love him. She loved Ashley. And he had been a fool to think that he could change her mind. He had built this architectural horror for her pleasure, had showered her with every gift imaginable. Apparently, she was the one thing that he would never have.

For a moment he considered going back and breaking through those lame excuses and protestations. There were ways around the issue of pregnancy. It astounded him that none of Scarlett's friends had mentioned them to her. But perhaps they had, perhaps there was no other reason than remaining celibate since Ashley was forced to do so.

His mind wandered to the desires at war within him, of his fantasies of breaking through that wall and making her love him, making her feel things that she had never felt before. If he told her he loved her, would that make a difference? Of course not, not it would only give her the power to hurt him more than she already had but was unaware of. He couldn't give her more power.

What had he trapped himself into? His marriage would be just as loveless as his own parents marriage had been. This was one of the many reasons that he had forfeited his life in Charleston all those years ago. He had chose to walk away, knowing that he would not be received again, even by his own parents,rather than marry a girl that he did not love.

But now he was captive in a marriage with a woman that he did love, that he loved with all of his heart, but who by her own admission felt nothing more than fondness for him. She was the air in his lung; she was the sun in the sky. She stirred in him feelings that he hadn't even been aware existed.

Yes he wanted her body. She was his wife after all. But she was so much more than a lovely body. She was passion, and fire, and a vulnerable innocence at war behind those emerald eyes that could hide no secret. She was everything that he wanted and needed. She was things that he hadn't even known that he wanted or needed.

The same thoughts ran over and over in his head, he could have forced her, but of what use was it if she did not love him. If there was no love to ignite, no passion to kindle, he would only be hurting the both of them in the long run. He would only be using her body, when there were other willing bodies. And even if she did not love him, even if she would never love him. He did love her. God help him, the fool that he was, for loving such a careless little kitten as she was. But even as hurt as he was, he couldn't hurt her, couldn't force himself on her. He knew of the traumas of her life, he knew of the trials and deprivation and hurt that she had endured and he could not add to it. He only wanted to protect her and cherish her. And now, perhaps leaving her to her own devices was the kindest choice he could make.

His heart constricted. He needed something to dull this ache. Their marriage was dead, already dead, although it had only lasted for such a short span of time. And the grief was a shooting pain in his heart -- a pain more intense and griping than any physical wound that he had ever endured. The visible scars snaking their way across his body were no match for the wounds that now circumscribed his heart. He had been turned out, and there was nothing that he would do, other than to lavish his love upon his daughter and hope that Scarlett would someday love him, but he held his heart close to his chest to afraid of the ensuing injuries that might kill him.


	27. After the Bazzaar

Rhett gently fingered the small ring that Melanie Wiles had dropped into the basket last night. He wanted her to have this ring back. He had sought out the donations, which no doubt in the end would eventually come to him, but he wanted to strike while the iron was hot. This thin gold band could very well be his ticket into Scarlett's affections and Pittypat's graces. Of course returning this ring would not immediately warm Scarlett's heart to him, but instead provide with the opportunity to win her heart.

He picked up his pen and ink well and began composing a letter in bold clear script to Mrs. Wilkes.

"The Confederacy may need the lifeblood of its men but not yet does it demand the heart's blood of its women. Accept, dear Madam, this token of my reverence for your courage and do not think that your sacrifice has been in vain, for this ring has been redeemed at ten times its value."

He quickly signed his name with a generous flourish: "Captain Rhett Butler." Before blotting it, and folding it to slip inside with the token of Mrs. Wilkes's love.

And he grinned as he slipped the thin golden band into a white envelope with the letter thanking Melanie Wilkes for her sacrifice for the cause. He knew that no one else would pay much attention to the fact that he was not including Scarlett's other than the person in question herself. But he hated to see a band around her finger, knowing that it claimed her as someone else's wife, someone that was not him. And he also knew that by returning Mrs. Wilkes's ring that he was endearing himself to her, and she would insure that he would see Scarlett. She saw goodness in everyone, and he thought that perhaps she was much more shrewd than anyone ever gave her credit for. There was no doubt that she was a highly intelligent woman. And it was also a burden off of his mind to know that Mrs. Wilkes still wore that ring on her finger, for it protected Scarlett from Ashley's immediate availability. It was a tangible reminder that Scarlett could not have what she had so eagerly sought out.

He grinned thinking of the damage he knew he had been done to Scarlett's reputation last night by flaunting the dictates of society, but he wouldn't change a moment of it. And by damaging her reputation, perhaps he was trying to make it so that no one else would try to steal her away from him. He wanted her for himself alone. The feel of her in his arms was so completely and utterly right. There was no other way to describe it. Admittedly he desired her, desired her body along with her other attributes. But that feeling was much more significant than desire or wanting. Something about that woman, no child, touched deeply into his heart, pulling him in, drawing him in closer and closer until he could make neither heads nor tails of anything around him. She was what he had spent a lifetime searching for.

It wouldn't surprise him if he father showed up in town once the tentacles of gossip reached out into the Clayton County country-side like the arms of an octopus can reach out and squeeze even through the smallest cracks to find what they are searching for. He tried to remember if she had a brother, for some reason he was certain that she did not, something gathered from the ramblings of Frank Kennedy. If he was correct, she had two younger sisters, one of who Frank Kennedy was sweet on. That was most likely a good thing, an older brother might challenge him to a duel, and if that happened, well, Scarlett wouldn't have a brother any longer.

He would find a way around the issue though. He had been told that he could be quite charming when needed, and he would find away. He simply had to.

He rang the bell and waited for one of the negroes to arrive to take this letter to Mrs Wilkes. It had begun. He would someday have Scarlett O'Hara Hamilton as his own.


	28. Facing Her Father

It was only a week after the bazaar that Rhett Butler found himself staring into the face of a very angry, Irish father. Gerald O'Hara stood staring at him with malice and intense fury that can only be contained in a man so small as he.

"Might you be Captain Butler?" Came out of the small white-haired man's mouth.

"I am." He replied.

"And I take it that you are the man who forced my daughter to dance with you at the bazaar?"He questioned.

"Yes, sir I am." Rhett responded respectfully, although inside he was chuckling at the thought of any man needing to force Scarlett O'Hara to dance.

"Then I be needing to ask you your intentions toward me Katie Scarlett." Gerald continued.

Rhett understood that he was walking a thin line, in which he could win over the man's allegiance. "I would be more than happy to discuss this with you." He paused as he motioned towards one of the girls for an extra glass. "Would you care to join me for some whiskey and a game of cards?"

His eyes lit up, for he could smell the tang of the liquor, which gleamed golden in the light. "I might be willing to wet me thirst."

Of course, when the game began, Rhett played carelessly, allowing Scarlett's father to take the lead. Offering statements such as "I've never seen such a fine player" and "sir, could you teach me." It was all a ruse of course. A ballant manipulation of the situation. And as the evening wore on, Rhett took great care to insure that Gerald's glass never went dry.

Gerald was a generous and animated storyteller, and so with little effort, Rhett learned nearly all he needed to know about Scarlett's childhood and family. She was the oldest child – the oldest of three girls. Her mother was Ellen Robillard of Savannah which he knew of by name alone.

And Gerald, in a blustering fashion, told him stories of Ireland from the time of his youth. And Rhett listened with rapt attention, knowing that as he did such, he was winning her father.

And as the night grew longer, and Gerald grew increasingly inebriated, Rhett carefully proceeded to win back all of losses and more. The man was too far gone, and far too greatly enjoying himself to truly even be aware that he was no longer winning his hands, but losing the money hand over fist to the man who had tarnished his much beloved daughter's reputation.

There was something in Gerald's devotion to his eldest that struck a chord deep inside Rhett's heart. If he ever had a daughter, unlikely as the thought was, he would want her to be as completely and totally loved as Scarlett O'Hara was loved by her father. There was an obvious camaraderie, a deep friendship within their relationship that transcended the bounds of age and gender and time. It was the type of relationship that he only wished that he could have found with one of his parents. It was no wonder that Scarlett was so confident in her charm and beauty, for she had been raised being constantly praised and loved.

When Gerald's wallet was emptied, and his eyes glazed over, Rhett knew that it was time to help him home. As they rode the streets in Rhett's stylish buggy, heading towards the house where Scarlett lived, Gerald began singing Irish songs, slurred and bellowed from drunken lungs. His voice was loud and thick with brogue as he slumped in his seat. But there was no doubt that he was pleased with himself, and disaster had been averted.

The words floated down the street, quivering in the air:

While she sits in her low-back'd car,  
The lovers come near and far,  
And envy the chicken  
That Peggy is pickin',  
As she sits in her low-back'd car.

Oh, I'd rather own that car, sir,  
With Peggy by my side,  
Than a coach-and-four, and gold galore,  
And a lady for my bride;  
For the lady would sit forninst me,  
On a cushion made with taste,  
While Peggy would sit beside me,  
With my arm around her waist,

While we drove in the low-back'd car  
To be married by Father Maher;  
Oh, my heart would beat high  
At her glance and her sigh,  
Though it beat in a low-back'd car.

The buggy stopped in front of the house and Rhett alighted and helped Gerald out after him, although not letting him think that he was being aided in any way. Rhett paused at the gate and unlatched it.

"Now I'll be giving you the 'Lament for Robert Emmet.' 'Tis a song you should be knowing, me lad. I'll teach it to you." Gerald bellowed out.

"I'd like to learn it," Rhett replied evenly, a hint of buried laughter in his flat drawling voice. "But not now, Mr. O'Hara."

"Sing it I will and listen you will or I'll be shooting you for the Orangeman you are."

"Not Orangeman—Charlestonian." Rhett wasn't doing well containing the laughter. This man was obviously a kind hearted person, and Rhett was not even remotely

"'Tis no better. 'Tis worse. I have two sister-in-laws in Charleston and I know." Rhett's mind flickered to his brief knowledge of who he knew to be Gerald's sisters in law, and he couldn't help but agree that they weren't his favorite people either.

Then Gerald, who was hanging on the gate, threw back his head and began the "Lament," in a roaring, although terribly off-key bass. Rhett could see a faint outline in a second story window, revealing that Scarlett might be listening.

Words from the mirror softly pass  
To the curtains with a sigh:  
"Why should I trouble again to glass  
These smileless things hard by,  
Since she I pleasured once, alas,  
Is now no longer nigh!"

"I've imaged shadows of coursing cloud,  
And of the plying limb  
On the pensive pine when the air is loud  
With its aerial hymn;  
But never do they make me proud  
To catch them within my rim!

"I flash back phantoms of the night  
That sometimes flit by me,  
I echo roses red and white -  
The loveliest blooms that be -  
But now I never hold to sight  
So sweet a flower as she."

When the song had finished, Rhett allowed Gerald to lean on him as they proceeded up the walk and mounted the stairs. Then Rhett knocked softly on the door, hoping that it really was Scarlett who he had seen sitting in the window and not someone who might be scandalized by the sight of an inebriated male.

He saw a faint glowing in the upstairs hallway, and then the almost indiscernible sound of small light feet on wooden stairs. He heard the click of the lock, and was soon rewarded with a sight of her standing in the now open doorway, as the door swung open.

She held her wrapper close to her throat. Her dark hair swirled around her shoulders, cascading in an ebony flow down her back. She looked so innocent and young without the trappings of widowhood. She looked to be the child that she was, her pale face illuminated in the moonlight. He had a hard time focusing on anything else, such as her father who was now clinging to his arm.

"Your father, I believe?" Rhett said, his eyes amused in his swarthy face. He stared intently at her standing there in her wrapper and night clothes. He wanted her more. It was so simple to imagine holding her in the night, running his fingers through her hair -- ripping that wrapper off of her body so that he could caress her milky skin.

"Bring him in," she said shortly. She was embarrassed at the way she was attired, he could see it in the flashing of her eyes and the way in which she held her self. He knew that there was no corset binding her and holding her in. The material that was so tightly wrapped around her was a thin barrier if he was an less a gentleman.

Rhett propelled Gerald forward. "Shall I help you take him upstairs?" He looked at the stairs, thinking of many things that were not related to carrying an old man up the stairs, but a much lighter, dark haired beauty that was standing behind him in the moonlight spilling in through the windows. Her lips were full and pouty. He had never waited so long to kiss a girl. And how he wanted to kiss those lips. "You cannot manage him. He's quite heavy." Trying to force his mind away from the thoughts where they kept leaping like insistent flames scorching hungrily.

Her mouth fell open with horror at the audacity of his proposal. "Mother of God, no! In here, in the parlor on that settee."

"The suttee, did you say?" He asked with a smirk, recalling the conversation from the bazaar, recalling everything about every moment that they had spent together.

"I'll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head." She replied, clearly annoyed at him. She stopped in the parlor and motioned towards a small settee. "Here. Now lay him down." There was again now an imperious tone to her voice, as she stood in her wrapper trying without success to put forth a regal facade. No, she looked more like a little girl, although even in the dim light, his trained eyes could see that she was no girl. The thin material covered delicious swells that he was having a hard time keeping himself from starring at.

"Shall I take off his boots?" He asked, trying to force his mind to something, anything other than the beauty before him.

She glanced up at him, her eyes nearly glowing in the low lighting. "No. He's slept in them before." She didn't seem too concerned, not did she seem away of the effect that her presence had upon him.

He laughed softly as he crossed Gerald's legs. Obviously this was a fairly common occurrence.

"Please go, now." She nearly whispered to him furiously, as if she understood that Rhett was more than partially to blame for her father's current condition. Of course, he was to blame, almost exclusively. That had been his aim all along.

He walked out into the dim hall and picked up the hat he had dropped on the door sill. "I will be seeing you Sunday at dinner," he said and went out into the moonlight, closing the door noiselessly behind him.

He would hold that image in his heart for years to come. It would be the picture that he would imagine even as he took another woman to his bed. He was imagining her. It was her milky skin that his hands roamed. It was her dark hair that his face was buried in that tickled his face. She was an enigma, being both woman and child all at the same time. She was his childhood fantasy and the longing of his heart.

And yet she was suspended above him, an untouchable, elusive prize that he could not attain. No woman who could even in the loosest sense of the term could be considered a lady had ever been more than a passing interest to him, but there was something about her that tempted and taunted at him. She was at all times a paradox, an untapped vial of passion that had yet to be unleashed. She was at first glance a lady, and yet at second glance there was more to her than that. There was a fierce burning intelligence and an undying devotion that bordered on obsession. In such a short span of time, she had gone from being an intriguing mystery that continuously flitted across his mind to a fire in his bones that burned away all before it.

He had faced her father, leaving the ball in her hands. He seriously doubted that Scarlett would be leaving with her father. No, not Scarlett. She would certainly find a way to manipulate the situation so that her father would have no choice but to agree for her to stay in Atlanta. Which had been part of his plan all along. He wanted her near. He wanted to be with her. He wanted the chance to make her love him. He wanted to possess her, body, mind, and soul.


	29. And the Feelings Grow

And the Feelings Grow

From then on, no matter what he did, he couldn't get the image of her out of his mind. He wanted her, but the specifics of which were still hazy in his mind. His more carnally based desires, thought of nothing beyond the feel of her body against his. His imagination would concoct various plots and plans on how he could take her bodily for his own. He had dreamed of her as becoming one of Belle's girls, but the thought of another touching her, was more infuriating than not having her. But there was still a gallant side to his nature that occasionally pondered changing his wicked ways. He did consider asking for her hand. He had even mentioned the subject to her father, but by then Gerald had been too far gone in his drinking to understand Rhett's true intentions. The only one who seemed to see past some of his baser thoughts and terrible reputation was Melanie Wilkes, who was unable it seemed to anything but the best in a person.

He fought continuously against his mind and body where Scarlett was concerned. He had that night at the bazaar been fighting it. But that night after playing cards with her father, staring at her scantily clad body bathed in glowing moonlight, he had wanted her. He had fought against his lusts, fought relentlessly and had not even kissed her. But a kiss could have been his death. He doubted that he could have stopped at a kiss. He didn't know if he started, if he would be able to stop, so great was his desire for her. He had been drinking as well, alternating shots of whiskey with water, but the edge was off, and a kiss would have been too great a temptation.

And in those delicious months following the scandal of dancing at the bazaar, he had won her confidence. He courted her with a persistence and devotion that was telling to all. But he kept his emotions tightly in check, he had no desire to allow her the upper hand in knowing of his burgeoning feelings for her.

He wasn't always in town, in fact, most other blockade runners did not bother with venturing as far from the coast as Atlanta. He could explain away his presence to most people with various excuses, but in truth since that night at the bazaar, there was one significant attraction that drew him as a moth to a flame. For no other town could boast of the reason for his intense focus upon Atlanta.

"Miss O'Hara." He called as she carefully made her way down the steps of the hospital where she had been working.

"Captain Butler." She said throwing him an engaging smile. "Aren't you going to help me into your carriage?" She fluttered her eyes at him.

"I'd be no gentleman if I didn't" was his reply.

She laughed a tinkling laugh, "You are no gentleman."

"Well, for goodness sake, don't tell anyone. I have everyone else convinced to the contrary." There was an amused grin on his face as he told her. "However, you miss are no lady."

"Oh, Rhett. You shouldn't say such things to me." Her lower lip jutted out in a pout.

For a moment he was distracted by that lip, it took great concentration not to kiss her senseless sitting in the carriage in front of the hospital. "I haven't given you anything to pout about, my pet."

"Would you hurry up, and get us out of here. I'm tired of even looking at that dreadful place."

At this he chuckled again. "And I thought you were such a devoted little Confederate."

She turned her bright eyes upon him. "Rhett. Can't you ever just be polite. Even if I hate it, I'm doing my duty. And I don't get to be around the soldiers that are only minimally wounded, since I am a widow, I have to deal with the ones that so sick and disgusting and in pain."

"I don't think you were ever really married."

"I have my son, don't I?" She said huffily.

"Yes, you have a son, that I obviously need to spend more time with, but I don't think your dearly departed husband made any lasting impression upon your heart or your mind. You are still the petty child that you were that day at Twelve Oaks. You just happen to have a son, from a night that I am assuming you would rather not remember."

Scarlett stared at him, her mouth slack in shock. "Captain Butler, You are being ill-bred!" She said primly. "This is not something that we should be discussing. It is simply not appropriate. I would like for you to take me home, immediately."

He smirked and raised an eyebrow. "You already knew I was no gentleman before you climbed into my carriage. You shouldn't act as you are so shocked and offended."

Her eyes narrowed into a piercing glare. "You are being a skunk, Rhett Butler."

At this he chuckled heartily. "Perhaps I am, perhaps I am." Then he pulled the reins. "I have brought you safely home. Even if I did offend you."

She glared at him, even as he lifted her down to the ground. "Good day, Captain Butler." A defiant tilt to her chin.

"Good day, Scarlett. I'll be seeing you."

"You needn't bother."

"But I will bother all the same." He chuckled as he watched her flounce towards the door. She was amusing to him, her odd mixture of propriety and stubborn will. She certainly made life interesting. And he was certain that no doubt, she always would.

Only a few days later found Scarlett's arm intertwined with Rhett's as he led her to another social function as they had quickly fallen into the habit of doing. It had only taken a well timed box of bon-bons to reclaim her approval. He could see in her eyes the censure that she placed on herself in his presence. She was all too keenly aware of the fact that he knew of her darkest secrets. They both understood that he had witnessed her very worst, and yet still seemed willing to devote and lavish such attention upon her.

And she enjoyed herself in his presence. She felt a freedom of mind that no one else had ever given her. Nothing that she said scandalized him. Indeed, he was beyond being shocked by anything that she might do.

Of course, he could see that it maddened her that she could not control him as she had controlled every beau before. He was more than her match, he was her master. There was a challenge being presented to her, although as dim as she could be it was possible that she was unaware. He thought that he might enjoying being subdued by her, that he might be willing to give up all of his roaming ways for her.

But regardless of all else. He continued his pursuit, hoping that he might be the one to capture her heart.


	30. An Indecent Proposal

_Author's Note: Sorry for the delay in posting. I should have another update up soon. I hope that you enjoy this one. I actually have had it done for a while, note that this is not the next chapter chronologically. I have more research to do for that so instead I give you this._

Atlanta in the midst of the siege was so quite, so utterly still that the silence almost hurt his ears. He had become accustomed to the sound of the shells falling and the canons blasting. What had possessed him to stay here? Of course he knew the answer to his own question; he had stayed behind to protect Scarlett. But he might as well look at it as another one of his grand adventures. Wasn't that how life should be lived? Carpe Diem. Seize the day.

The thought of Scarlett enlivened his senses, sending his desire for her to the forefront of his mind. He wanted her more than he had ever wanted any woman. And he would go to her, see how she was faring, see if she had fled to Macon like anyone with any sense would have. She had been so furious with him the last time that he had seen her. But if she was still here, he felt it his obligation to protect her from her own foolishness. What might she do if left to her own devices?

The road to Aunt PittyPat's house was empty, as he led his his horse down the dusty path. The town it seemed had been deserted by every living thing. Surely Scarlett wouldn't still be out here on the edge of town, but something inside of him prodded him to check anyway. But as he approached he could see a faint light in one of the windows that told him unequivocally that someone in the household had remained. The only person brave enough or foolish enough to stay here in the middle of a siege would be Scarlett.

Upon reaching the house, he leapt lightly from the carriage, and removed his wide Panama hat. He walked through the gate, inciting the familiar click as it shut. From the shadows she emerged, her eyes red with freshly cried tears, although she seemed to wiped the majority of them from her face. She looked so young, so naive with the tears still clinging to her eyelashes. He wanted to pull her from her sadness, whatever may have caused it, for he longed to see her smile shining at him.

She made no protest as he settled himself on the top step right at her feet, and he could see that she was delighted to see him. He knew that with the scarcity of people that she would be lonely, for she was such a social animal, especially where men were concerned. She was only fully alive when she was plying her charms on some unsuspecting fool who she would insure was immediately besotted with her. It was her game.

"So you didn't refugee to Macon! I heard that Miss Pitty had retreated and, of course, I thought you had gone too. So, when I saw your light I came here to investigate. Why did you stay?" Why had she stayed indeed? She had been so frightened, so tired, so weary when they had squabbled. What would have made her stay here in this warzone?

"To keep Melanie company. You see, she--well, she can't refugee just now."

"Thunderation," he said, and in the lamplight she saw that he was frowning. Who had made this fool decision to leave a pregnant woman here in the hands of a terrified girl, no matter how brave she was? "You don't mean to tell me Mrs. Wilkes is still here? I never heard of such idiocy. It's quite dangerous for her in her condition."

Scarlett was silent for a moment. "It's quite ungallant of you not to think that I might get hurt too," she said tartly.

His eyes flickered with amusement. God help the person who crossed her. "I'd back you against the Yankees any day."

"I'm not sure that that's a compliment," she said uncertainly.

"It isn't," he answered, as he imagined her whipping the Yankees so badly that they cried for their mothers. "When will you stop looking for compliments in men's lightest utterances?" And she was still ever the belle, expecting every word a man spoke to her, a praise on her beauty and character.

"When I'm on my deathbed," she replied and smiled.

"Vanity, vanity," he chuckled. "At least, you are frank about it." She was nothing, if not blunt in her confidence of her charms, although he was certain that she was unaware of the effect that her charms had on him. He covered it all too well with his sarcastic comments and thinly veiled insults.

He opened his cigar case, extracted a black cigar and held it to his nose for a moment. A match flared, he leaned back against a post and, clasping his hands about his knees, smoked a while in silence as Scarlett resumed her rocking. The mockingbird, which nested in the tangle of roses and honeysuckle, roused from slumber and gave one timid, liquid note. Then, as if thinking better of the matter, it was silent again. She was such a paradox, a lovely paradox that he wasn't sure that he would ever understand.

From the shadow of the porch, Rhett suddenly laughed, a low, soft laugh. It was amusing to think that she had stayed behind for the benefit of someone that she claimed to hate. Ever the paradox, that Scarlett. "So you stayed with Mrs. Wilkes! This is the strangest situation I ever encountered!"

"I see nothing strange about it," she answered.

"No? But then you lack the impersonal viewpoint. My impression has been for some time past that you could hardly endure Mrs. Wilkes. You think her silly and stupid and her patriotic notions bore you. You seldom pass by the opportunity to slip in some belittling remark about her, so naturally it seems strange to me that you should elect to do the unselfish thing and stay here with her during this shelling. Now, just why did you do it?"

"Because she's Charlie's sister--and like a sister to me," answered Scarlett as her cheeks grew pink..

"You mean because she's Ashley's Wilkes' widow." There was no sense in beating around the bush and speaking the truth to her, there was no sense in lying to oneself.

Scarlett rose quickly, "I was almost on the point of forgiving you for your former boorish conduct but now I shan't do it. I wouldn't have ever let you come upon this porch at all, if I hadn't been feeling so blue and--"

"Sit down and smooth your ruffled fur," he said, and his voice changed. He reached up and taking her hand pulled her back into her chair. "Why are you blue?" She was scared, and he had never seen her upset in this way. It wasn't anger that was at the root of this. She was worried, quite worried about someone or something. And she looked so much like a child that he wanted to sweep her into his arms and protect her.

"Oh, I had a letter from Tara today. The Yankees are close to home and my little sister is ill with typhoid and--and--so now, even if I could go home, like I want to, Mother wouldn't let me for fear I'd catch it too. Oh, dear, and I do so want to go home!"

She looked to be on the verge of tears, and he hated the thought of her crying. "Well, don't cry about it," he said, but his voice was kinder, she did something to his heart, something that made him want to ravish her and at the same time wrap her in wool. "You are much safer here in Atlanta even if the Yankees do come than you'd be at Tara. The Yankees won't hurt you and typhoid would."

"The Yankees wouldn't hurt me! How can you say such a lie?"

"My dear girl, the Yankees aren't fiends. They haven't horns and hoofs, as you seem to think. They are pretty much like Southerners--except with worse manners, of course, and terrible accents." She had no reason to be afraid of them, and fear could do terrible things, foolish things. And she might not survive her own actions.

"Why, the Yankees would--"

"Rape you? I think not. Though, of course, they'd want to." As he wanted to, at least he wanted to possess her body and all of her. He would love to be able to make sweet loved to her, but this wasn't the time to be thinking of that.

"If you are going to talk vilely I shall go into the house," she cried, trying to hide her crimson face in the shadows.

"Be frank. Wasn't that what you were thinking?" He knew the stories that had been told, the stories were one of the games of war.

"Oh, certainly not!"

"Oh, but it was!" Thought she obviously not a maiden, she certainly put on maiden airs, as if she nothing of intercourse and the like. "No use getting mad at me for reading your thoughts. That's what all our delicately nurtured and pure-minded Southern ladies think. They have it on their minds constantly. I'll wager even dowagers like Mrs. Merriwether . . ."

For a moment he thought of the result if a Yankee were to try and defile Mrs. Merriweather. No matter who they were, they would have certainly bit off more than they could chew. He chuckled softly at the thought. "Speaking of such matters," he continued, "have you a protector or chaperon in the house? The admirable Mrs. Merriwether or Mrs. Meade? They always look at me as if they knew I was here for no good purpose." Most likely because he was there for no good purpose.

"Mrs. Meade usually comes over at night," answered Scarlett. "But she couldn't tonight. Phil, her boy, is home."

"What luck," he said softly, "to find you alone." This was an opportunity that he doubted that he would have again.

She laughed nervously, as if she was plotting some devious scheme.

"Don't giggle," he said, and taking her hand, he turned it over and pressed his lips into the palm. He could feel her reaction as something vital, electric, leaped from him to her at the touch of his warm mouth, something that it seemed she hadn't felt before. His lips traveled to her wrist and s he felt the leap of her pulse as her heart quickened. She tried to draw back her hand. Such a simple gesture he knew was sending desire through her, if only he could tap into the passion that was inside of her. And she didn't understand it, at all. Her husband must not have given her the best experiences, he had been nothing but a fumbling boy. He laughed softly. "Don't pull away! I won't hurt you!"

"Hurt me? I'm not afraid of you, Rhett Butler, or of any man in shoe leather!" she cried, her voice shaking as well as her hands, one of which he still held in his own.

"An admirable sentiment, but do lower your voice. Mrs. Wilkes might hear you. And pray compose yourself." He was thoroughly enjoying seeing her so flustered when he had done nothing but kiss her hand. "Scarlett, you do like me, don't you?"

"Well, sometimes," she answered cautiously. "When you aren't acting like a varmint."

He laughed again and held the smooth palm of her hand against his hard cheek.

"I think you like me because I am a varmint. You've known so few dyed-in-the-wool varmints in your sheltered life that my very difference holds a quaint charm for you." He could see in her eyes the battle of wills she was fighting. He excited and frightened her all at the same time.

She tried again without success to pull her hand free.

"That's not true! I like nice men--men you can depend on to always be gentlemanly."

"You mean men you can always bully. It's merely a matter of definition. But no matter." She was such a hot headed little bully, sometime acting like such a child, but that didn't make him want her any less.

He kissed her palm again, and again he could feel her body reacting excitedly to him. "But you do like me. Could you ever love me, Scarlett?" He wanted her to want him, to desire him as he desired her.

"Ah!" she thought, triumphantly. "Now I've got him!" And she answered with studied coolness: "Indeed, no. That is--not unless you mended your manners considerably."

"And I have no intention of mending them." She thought he was going to play her game, allow him to be trampled as she had trampled all of her other beaux, even if he did love her. "So you could not love me? That is as I hoped. For while I like you immensely, I do not love you and it would be tragic indeed for you to suffer twice from unrequited love, wouldn't it, dear? May I call you 'dear,' Mrs. Hamilton? I shall call you 'dear' whether you like it or not, so no matter, but the proprieties must be observed."

"You don't love me?" she seemed confused by his admission, lie though it was.

"No, indeed. Did you hope that I did?"

"Don't be so presumptuous!"

"You hoped! Alas, to blight your hopes! I should love you, for you are charming and talented at many useless accomplishments. But many ladies have charm and accomplishments and are just as useless

as you are. No, I don't love you. But I do like you tremendously-- for the elasticity of your conscience, for the selfishness which you seldom trouble to hide, and for the shrewd practicality in you which, I fear, you get from some not too remote Irish-peasant ancestor." No, he would not play into her hand. He was the master and she the pupil.

She began to splutter wordlessly.

"Don't interrupt," he begged, squeezing her hand, he wouldn't let her know his true feelings. "I like you because I have those same qualities in me and like begets liking. I realize you still cherish the memory of the godlike and wooden- headed Mr. Wilkes, who's probably been in his grave these six months. But there must be room in your heart for me too. Scarlett, do stop wriggling! I am making you a declaration. I have wanted you since the first time I laid eyes on you, in the hall of Twelve Oaks, when you were bewitching poor Charlie Hamilton. I want you more than I have ever wanted any woman—and I've waited longer for you than I've ever waited for any woman." How he wanted her, it was maddening at times to be in her presence, but he doubted that she really understood these matters, if her reaction to a simple kiss on the wrist was any indicator.

She was breathless with surprise at his last words. "Are you asking me to marry you?"

He dropped her hand and laughed so loudly she shrank back in her chair. She was closer to the truth than she would ever know. A part of him did want to marry her. She was the only person who had ever made him feel like this.

"Good Lord, no! Didn't I tell you I wasn't a marrying man?" But she would never know the real depth of his feelings, he would never allow it.

"But--but--what--"

He rose to his feet and, hand on heart, made her a burlesque bow. "Dear," he said quietly, "I am complimenting your intelligence by asking you to be my mistress without having first seduced you."

"Mistress! What would I get out of that except a passel of brats?" And then her jaw dropped in horror as she realized what she had said. He laughed until he choked, peering at her in the shadows as she sat, stricken dumb, pressing her handkerchief to her mouth.

She always said the truth in a pinch such as this, it was a great part of her charm. "That's why I like you! You are the only frank woman I know, the only woman who looks on the practical side of matters without beclouding the issue with mouthings about sin and morality. Any other woman would have swooned first and then shown me the door."

Scarlett leaped to her feet, her face red with shame. "I will show you the door," she shouted, not caring if Melanie or the Meades, down the street, did bear her. "Get out! How dare you say such things to me! What have I ever done to encourage you—to make you suppose. . . . Get out and don't ever come back here. I mean it this time. Don't you ever come back here with any of your piddling papers of pins and ribbons, thinking I'll forgive you. I'll--I'll tell my father and he'll kill you!"

He picked up his hat and bowed, smiling at her reaction. He was not ashamed, he was amused at what she had said, and he was watching her with alert interest. She continued to prove to him that she was as interesting as he had suspected.

She swung round on her heel and marched into the house. She grabbed hold of the door to shut it with a bang, but the hook which held it open was too heavy for her. She struggled with it, panting.

"May I help you?" he asked, amused greatly by her indignant struggle.

She hurried inside and stormed up the stairs. And since she had been unable to slam the door in her anger, he obligingly slammed the door for her. Life would never be dull with her around. And he wanted her, wanted her so badly that he had for a moment almost revealed his hand to her. But he hadn't. And he would return, and eventually, she would be his.


	31. Desperation

The rain dripped outside the uncovered window, while rivulets trailed down the walls in haphazard patterns that revealed the poor construction of the building and the damage from the siege and all that followed. He sat alone in the jail cell, fuming over her apparent skills at deception. She been so utterly charming, so bright and vivacious that he had been taken in by her overwhelming charms. At first he had been blinded by rage, blinded with fury that he could be taken for a fool. For he was a fool where she was concerned. But slowly his anger dissipated leaving a heavy knot in the pit of his stomach that would not be diminished. She had been desperate. There had been a raw, savage hunger in her eyes. How she had managed to hide this from his eyes with pretty words and charm, he did not know. But she was not one to give up. There was no telling what that desperation would compel her to do, what it had already compelled her to do. And he was afraid for her. Afraid of what would come of her.

She was undoubtedly too thin, and not in the fact that the circumference of her waist was small. He knew that she prided herself on her small waist and trim figure. But no, now her face was pinched and her bones jutted out through her skin making her look impossibly fragile. Her once ample chest for her size was almost non existent. She was at the breaking point, beyond the breaking point. And there was nothing that he could do. He was powerless to help her. His funds unavailable for the very same reasons that he had disclosed to her. There was nothing that he could do.

A part of him would have liked to turn her out on the street regardless of the state of his finances to pay her back for the mass of disappointment he had felt at the discovery that she had not been truly coming to him as a friend in concern. She had instead come to him, thinking he was her last resort, selling her body like a common whore. But that told him more of her desperation than the dress or the calloused palms could ever convey. He had tried to calm her down, tried to whisper to her that he would find a way to save her, just as he had saved her when Atlanta was falling. But her hysteria was too intense, her mind too far gone to reach her. His refusal to help had sent her spiraling down into momentary madness, as her desperation seemed to well up and swallow her. Her eyes were wild and filled with fear to the brim. And then her hysteria continued to rise in churning swells that finally took her under in a final crashing wave.

He could still feel the slight weight of her slack body in his arms, more slight than anyone should ever be. He had tried to cradle her body against himself, trying to offer her his own strength. It was terrifying to him that she had fainted. In all of the time of their acquaintance he had never known her to be one given to faints and ladylike weaknesses. In fact many a times, he had heard her mocking some wilting flower for her delicacy. But terror, blinding terror, and deprivation had transformed her with granite hardness that glittered in her eyes and the stony set of her jaw.

No Scarlett was not used to fainting. The was evident to all as she slowly swam her way to consciousness. Her bewilderment at the situation at hand was humbling to him. His refusal to help had hurt her, injured her, sent her desperately trying to find another way for salvation. And he had no way of knowing what tactic she might take to save herself. Surely if she had come to him as she had, she had run out of options. She would not just idly offer her body to a man such as himself.

He had tried to stop her from leaving quite at that moment, but since she had fainted the guards would not allow him to be alone with her. He had no opportunity to assure her that he would find a way to get out of jail, a way to get the money she was so desperate to procure. He knew that she would not lower herself by coming to see him again. She hadn't been willing to listen to anything he had said after he said that he couldn't get the money. But he would find a way. He would rescue her, just as he had rescued her and Melanie from the falling Atlanta. He would move heaven and earth to protect her.

In the darkness of that cell, her fear and despair weighed heavily on him. He couldn't get the image of her hands out of his mind. Her hands were as raw and blistered as a darkies. Life was obviously not going so well at Tara. And yet the sight of her, her bright eyes staring up at him from her thick eyelashes were a welcome sight. He had worried after leaving her at Rough and Ready. He had worried every night wondering if she had made it home, yet still confident that she had. He had never doubted her resourcefulness and determination. He only pitied the fool who tried to stand in her path.

But there had been no assurance that things would all safe when she reached home. How thankful he was to learn that Tara had not been burned. As bad as it seemed, it was most assuredly not as bad as it could have been. She could have been taking a dying woman, a fool of a slave, a toddler, and newly born infant into the countryside to be greeted by nothing other than death and destruction and the charred rubble where her home had once stood. No, his worst nightmares had not been played out. He finally fell asleep with the image of her burned into his mind.

Through the night, he was plagued with the image of her calloused hands and the hunger and fear that were naked in her eyes. He couldn't shake the image of her from his unconscious mind. The image haunted him relentlessly. He felt a desperation and an urgency that he must find a way to free himself and save her. All would change if only he could rescue her once more.


	32. Fighting to Fly

Author's Note: Thank you for all of you are still reading this. And thank you, my diligent readers for ctaching my typos and word repititions. Special thanks for Sara for helping me with info on the rate of a hooker for a night after the end of the war. It helped a lot!

The rising of the morning sun found him already diligently at work, his hand fisted tightly in a death grip around a pen as he scribbled furiously on first one sheet and then another. The letters were not penned in his usual careful writing, but it seemed as if his case was urgent and hurried as if the hounds were already upon him. He had connections in Washington. There must be some way that he could secure his freedom. Up until this point, he hadn't felt the need to call in favors or issue thinly veiled threats to be released. But it was obvious that Scarlett was in dire straights. She wouldn't have lowered herself in the way that she had if that had not been the case.

He grinned in spite of the urgency that he was feeling. Three hundred dollars was an awful lot of money for even the most high end prostitute to hope to earn for a night - beyond a high amount this was so much that it would have been laughable in any other situation. He was more than generous with Belle, and yet he had never given her more than twenty dollars for a night, and that was unheard of. No matter how beautiful Scarlett was, her inexperience combined with her emaciation would bring her no more than five or six dollars a night. Of, course she probably had no idea what the going rate was for a prostitute. She would have had no reason to know. But she did have a high opinion of herself in the price she was asking- an exceptionally high price. But leave it to Scarlett O'Hara to offer herself at a price higher than anybody else had ever been paid.

But the fact that she had asked, the fear and desperation in her eyes, this was no laughing matter. He needed to get released, for he finally was ready to take her as his, of course not in the manner in which she had asked. He still wanted her : mind, body, and soul. He wanted to shelter her and pamper her as she deserved. For the first time in his life, he actually believed himself ready to settle down and become a married man.

He hoped that some of the assurances that he had whispered in her ears as she had been fighting him until she had fainted would be remembered, but he could not be certain or reply upon that. No. He needed to find his way out of this mess quickly. He needed to assure her that all was taken care of.

He rapidly folded each of the letters that he had written, sealing them with wax for there were no envelopes and went to the door. "Guard! Guard!" He called out.

He waited impatiently, pacing back and forth across the narrow space in which he was confined. When finally one of the blue coats arrived, he asked them to bring the captain in to him. He decided against trying to play the humble, contrite card. No, he could bluff his way into getting these letters sent. And he only hoped that they would arrive in time and be responded to quickly as well. There was little time for him to ride in and rescue Scarlett. That kiss that he had taken from her pliant lips just before leaving her to join the army had lodged itself in his brain. That kiss had haunted him for over a year now. Yes. She was certainly worthy of the cost of more kisses like that and all that would follow when she was his. He could tell by her response to him that she had never been kissed like that. No one had even begun to tap into her passionate, fiery nature. And he wanted to be the one that managed that. He wanted her to want only him.

Yes, he would do whatever it took. Those whose secrets he kept would very willingly comply if they knew what was good for them. He only hoped that they would respond with all die haste. As desperate as she was, he knew that she wouldn't stop until she found a way to help herself. She would not allow herself to be vunerable for long. If only she would visit again. Surely if she were as desperate as she seemed, she would come again. There was no one else that he knew of that would be able to give her the money that she needed. It wasn't as if the amount she was asking for was a pittance.

In fact, he would move heaven and earth to make it so that she never needed to lack for anything again. He would ease that burden from her shoulders, smooth the worry from her brow. He wanted her to only know only of the finer things in life. She only deserved the best, despite the anger that he sometimes felt at her unwavering devotion to the idiot Ashley. That man, loosely as that term applied to him, did not deserve one ounce of the devotion that she poured out upon him. That issue was a thorn in his side. It galled him that she didn't see it. Scarlett needed a real man, not a weakling trapped in the past who only lived for his dream world. He hadn't spent much time with the man, but he knew the type. It amazed him that Ashley hadn't managed to die during the war. But his survival, as surprising as it was was not the issue. Ashley would never be the man that Scarlett needed. She needed a man who lived in the now. She needed him. She needed him, just as much as he needed her.

Each day he wrote, each day he dispatched letter after letter. And yet, each day passed into another, with no word from outside that his letters had been received. The waiting was setting his nerves on edge. Each day that passed he knew put her in jeopardy more and more because she didn't even know that he was working to be released. She would do something crazy and foolish unless he was released soon and made his way to her. But the days stretched into weeks. And the weeks stretched into a month. And yet still he had not heard a word from the outside. He felt like a caged animal.

Finally five weeks after she had come to him, in the sleeting rain of mid February, he was released. He hoped that he wasn't too late, but being the self-assured person that he was, he knew that surely she would still be waiting for him, even if that meant that he needed to go out to that little plantation of hers out in the middle of nowhere.

He was released and immediately made his way to the barber, so that he would be clean-shaven and freshly groomed before riding in to rescue her from her trials. He couldn't wait to see the relief and joy on her face. He wondered about the kisses that she would bestow, and he would steal. He went by the tailor's shop and was soon immaculately dressed.

Finally he went by the bank and he was authorized to write out a draft for the full amount of her debt. He carefully folded the slip of paper and slipped it into his inner pocket. Then he stopped by a jeweler for a simple gold band with a single emerald stone. He was ready to give her the world.

When he finally arrived at Aunt PittyPat's house, he was relieved to see that it still looked much the same, although a little worse for the wear. Pork opened the door, and he was oddly cool in his reception.

"Is Miss PittyPat here, Pork?" He asked, holding his new hat in his hands.

"She sho is Captain Butler. She be right heah in de pahlor." He replied simply as he led him in.

He handed Pitty a small box of chocolates which she accepted hesitantly. Pittypat seemed a little nervous as he took a seat across from her and began making small talk that meant nothing. He was only biding his time until he could discreetly ask about Scarlett's situation. She was the only reason that he was here, and he wondered if Pitty was aware of it. He surmised that she was not for she kept droning on about the various societies in which she was involved and the fates and trials that various members of Atlanta's genteel society had undergone in the time since Atlanta was under seige. Apparently Pitty had little knowledge of just what Melanie and Scarlett had come through.

When she finally mentioned Melanie, his ears perked up. For surely Melanie's fate was directly tied to Scarlett's. He was both relieved and confused by the revelation that Melanie and Ashley and Beau were all still safely at Tara, although Pitty desperately wanted them to move to Atlanta.

Then she finally spoke the name that he had been waiting to hear. "I'm not nearly so worried now with Scarlett living here. Wade is such a sweet boy. And it is so nice to have a man around the house again."

Rhett's eyebrows raised. "I'm sorry. I must have misunderstood. What man is around the house?"

PittyPat fluttered nervously, "Oh, my Captain Butler. Didn't you hear? Oh, my." She said as she fanned herself, as if she were about to fall over in a faint. "Scarlett married Frank. They married, hmmm, I believe it's been three weeks now." She didn't seem aware of how deeply that it would wound him.

Rhett's face was an impassive mask as his mind reeled with this disclosure. Scarlett was married once again to a man that she didn't love. The irony was not lost on him. He had lost his chance. He fingered the box in his pocket. This ring would be of no use now. He wanted to crush it in his fist. And he hadn't even taken the time to purchase some little sundry item to offer PittyPat. Finally he choked out, "Oh, no I had not heard. Where is the happy bride?" He asked.

"Oh, she went down to Frank's store. Frank has been sick for a week, and he was a little worried about the business, and so Scarlett wanted to ease his mind. Wade is down for his nap upstairs or I'm sure that he would be thrilled to see you."

Rhett continued to sit there surrounded by the little nik-naks and gee gaws that she so loved, feeling helpless and desolate. The only woman that he had ever felt so strongly for was gone from his life. And yet he tried to keep up the emotionless mask so that PittyPat would be none the wiser. Finally after checking his pocket watch, he made his excuses and bid PittyPat farewell.

He wanted to run and hide. He wanted to punch something, destroy something, release all of his anger and disappointment into some physical way. But instead he directed the horse down town to Five Points. He still needed to see her, needed to prove that she was being taken care of, even if he was not the one to do it.

But it sickened him to think of what a marriage to Frank entailed. Frank had her body, and Ashley had her heart, and he was left with nothing. A part of him longed to burst back into PittyPat's house and shove a pillow into Frank's face, suffocate him until the man was dead. He had fought to be released, and now released, he knew that he was too late. He was too late to save her. And she was gone from him.


	33. A Visitor to the Jail

The sun was only shining intermittently that morning, but that was an improvement over the dreary rain that sent rivulets of water down the walls where the shelling during the battles surrounding Atlanta had damaged the roof. It was miracle enough that the building had survived, and the Yankees seemed to think that he should be thankful that he was where he was at. The air was cold, and he was in desperate need of a shave and grooming. He lacked his usual polish and the fine clothes that made him appear to be a dandy. Oddly enough the Yankees did not seem to think of this as a necessity. In fact that they seemed to find amusement in his dishabille. But he was not lonely here. No, there was no shortage of women throwing themselves at him, so much so that he was turning Belle and her girls away frequently.

His musing was disrupted as one of the kinder, younger officer came into the room that was being used as his cell.

"There's a lady to see you." He said in a flat nasal clip. "She says she's your sister." Then he chuckled. "You do have quite a few sisters." His eyebrow raised in mockery of the prisoner's visitors excuse.

"Did she happen to say her name?" Rhett questioned, assuming that it was only another whore trying to craftily ply her trade.

The officer stood for a moment before replying, "Scarlett, I believe was her name. Looked like she was about to cry at the drop of a hat."

Rhett heart skipped a beat at the thought of Scarlett coming to see him, going out of her way to find him in a dank, excuse for a Yankee jail. And he chuckled at the thought of reminding her of their kiss on the road from Atlanta.

"She is mighty high minded this one... she isn't like the other "ladies" that come to visit you."

The officer hustled him out the door with his cape flung around his shoulders and no hat to perch on his head. And they made their trek across the space between the makeshift jail and the old home that was being used as headquarters. He wondered, not for the first time, how Scarlett had fared after his desertion at Rough and Ready. The fact that she was here seeing him, soothed him, allowing him the peace of knowing that she had indeed been able to make her way home through the lines of two combating armies.

The house that the Yankees had taken over as headquarters had once been a fine home. He remembered it from parties that had been thrown during the war, parties were he had danced with Scarlett and teased her until she blushed to the roots of her hair. But the house had seen better days, even from outside it was obvious that the house was not the same beautiful home that it had once been. And flying above it, proclaiming to all was a large United States flag, bearing witness to all of the conquering hand of the North

The young officer, whose name Rhett couldn't place at the moment, said something that amused him and the feeling of joy at seeing Scarlett again shot through his veins and he laughed carelessly and recklessly, knowing that Scarlett was now mere steps away. The door opened the anticipation swelled in his gut, not that he wanted anyone else to be aware of that fact. But he knew that his eyes were not masked and the joy at seeing her would be evident to all, perhaps even to her.

"Scarlett!" He cried, as he firmly took both of her small hands in his. Her face was flushed, and there was happiness radiating from her at the site of him. It was almost as if a weight had fallen from her shoulders. Had she truly missed him so much? It had been over a year since their last meeting.

He bent and kissed her rosy cheek, smiling as he felt her twitch as he knew that his mustache was tickling her. He pulled her into an embrace, hugging her around her shoulders and said,: "My darling little sister!" and grinned down at her relishing that she was helpless in resisting his caress.

She laughed back at him for the joy he was taking. He was a rogue indeed. Some things had not changed between them. It was a God send that something so simple could have survived the atrocities of war.

Rhett was barely aware of the fat captain who muttered through his cigar to the merry-eyed officer. "Most irregular. He should be in the firehouse. You know the

orders." They seemed to be allowing him some liberties because of the charming lady that had come to see him, and for that he was grateful. He didn't want Scarlett to see the place where such a visit would normally occur. It seemed that even Yankees could be charmed by Scarlett.

"Oh, for God's sake, Henry! The lady would freeze in that barn."

"Oh, all right, all right! It's your responsibility."

"I assure you, gentlemen," said Rhett, wanting to keep things as they were. He turned to them but still kept a grip on Scarlett's shoulders, "my--sister hasn't brought me any saws or files to help me escape."

They all laughed, and he could feel her body tensing worried about having to talk in front of such a large group of men that were not smitten with her and were not her beaus. But the younger officer seemed to sense Scarlett's distress and pushed open a door and spoke brief low words to two privates who had leaped to their feet at his entrance. They picked up their rifles and went out into the hall, closing the door behind them.

"If you wish, you may sit here in the orderly room," said the young captain. "And don't try to bolt through that door. The men are just outside."

"You see what a desperate character I am, Scarlett," said Rhett trying to shake this tension that seemed to overcome. It was almost as if she were afraid, but certainly that could not be.

"Thank you, Captain. This is most kind or you." Rhett bowed carelessly and taking Scarlett's arm pulled her to her feet and propelled her into the dingy orderly room.

When he had closed the door behind them, Rhett came to her swiftly and bent over her. Seeming to be prepared for his desire, she turned her head quickly but smiled provocatively at him out of the corners of her eyes.

"Can't I really kiss you now?" He asked in frustration, while trying to prevent that swift flood of passion from over taking him. A year, nearly a year and a half was too long a time between that last kiss on the road to Tara and now. He still wanted her more than he had ever wanted any woman, wanted to take her here and now, to feel the passion that he knew that had never been tapped into.

"On the forehead, like a good brother," she answered demurely.

He chuckled at her complete immersion into the role. No, a kiss on the forehead would not be sufficient to satiate this need, although he wasn't sure that there was a way to satiate that need. "Thank you, no. I prefer to wait and hope for better things." His eyes sought her lips and lingered there a moment. "But how good of you to come to see me, Scarlett! You are the first respectable citizen who has called on me since my incarceration, and being in jail makes one appreciate friends. When did you come to town?" He asked, wanting to know about all that had transpired, hungry even for the thoughts of her.

"Yesterday afternoon."

Why was it that two such simple words could set his heart racing? "And you came out this morning? Why, my dear, you are more than good." He smiled down at her with the first expression of honest pleasure she had ever seen on his face. Scarlett smiled and ducked her head as if embarrassed. Did this really mean that she had missed him even a fraction of as much as he had missed her?

"Of course, I came out right away. Aunt Pitty told me about you last night and I--I just couldn't sleep all night for thinking how awful it was. Rhett, I'm so distressed!"

"Why, Scarlett!" Had she fallen in love with him, had that intense kiss that they had shared awakened the sleeping lion of her desire? His voice was soft but there was a vibrant note in it. There was open and honest joy at her admission.

He wanted to take her in his arms and never let go. His head was clouded with the emotions caused by the knowledge that she was feeling more for him than a friend. There was hope here. "It's worth being in jail to see you again and to hear you say things like that. I really couldn't believe my ears when they brought me your name. You see, I never expected you to forgive me for my patriotic conduct that night on the road near Rough and Ready. But I take it that this call means you have forgiven me?"

He watched as anger blazed across her face before being banked behind a facade as bland and innocent as he had ever seen. So she wasn't quite over his defection. But then she smiled at him, tossing her head so that her earrings danced and her eyes flashed and he forgot that there was something amiss in her reaction to him. Something was still not quite right.

"No, I haven't forgiven you," she said and pouted, working her charms upon him that effectively blocked out all other thoughts, she wanted him after all. She was here to see him, and he wanted her.

But he smiled at her, shielding his emotions, at least the strength of them from her. He couldn't let her know just how it was that he did care. So instead he glibly offered, "Another hope crushed. And after I offered up myself for my country and fought barefooted in the snow at Franklin and got the finest case of dysentery you ever heard of for my pains!"

"I don't want to hear about your--pains," she said, still pouting but smiling at him from up-tilted eyes. "I still think you were hateful that night and I never expect to forgive you. Leaving me alone like that when anything might have happened to me!" He had been a fool to leave her there, been a fool to run off with the God-forsaken rag tag army that was left of the Glorious Cause. But he had run, not even so much as that compulsion to fight for a lost cause, but fear that his heart was already too far gone in her clutches. Holding her as she trembled and cried in his arms, begging a child for the solace of her mother.

Looking at the site of her he couldn't do anything other than dwell on the idiocy of leaving her when he did, but he offered his observations if only to convince himself that he hadn't been the biggest fool in the nation. "But nothing did happen to you. So, you see, my confidence in you was justified. I knew you'd get home safely and God help any Yankee who got in your way!" He added with a glimmer in his eye and a chuckle. She could be quite the hell-cat if she needed to be.

There was an iciness in her words even as she tried to spellbind him with her charm. "Rhett, why on earth did you do such a silly thing--enlisting at the last minute when you knew we were going to get licked? And after all you'd said about idiots who went out and got shot!"

"Scarlett, spare me! I am always overcome with shame when I think about it."

She seemed mollified by the response, and her mouth pursed as it did when she felt that she was victor. "Well, I'm glad to learn you are ashamed of the way you treated me."

He smiled mockingly at her, "You misunderstand. I regret to say that my conscience has not troubled me at all about deserting you." Although it was a lie, he couldn't imagine what she might do if armed with the truth. He had no intention of declaring his feeling until she reciprocated in turn. "But as for enlisting—when I think of joining the army in varnished boots and a white linen suit and armed with only a pair of dueling pistols-- And those long cold miles in the snow after my boots wore out and I had no overcoat and nothing to eat . . . I cannot understand why I did not desert. It was all the purest insanity. But it's in one's blood. Southerners can never resist a losing cause. But never mind my reasons. It's enough that I'm forgiven." He couldn't allow himself to dwell on some of the things that he had seen. No one could understand just how horrific the fighting had been unless they had been there themselves. He had always thought himself a brave man, but still to this day he couldn't help but get a little sick to his stomach at the images of carnage that he had seen and been a part of. There was nothing glorious about war.

"You're not. I think you're a hound." But she caressed the last word until it might have been "darling." She was still charming him, and it broke him from the thoughts that he had no desire to think.

"Don't fib. You've forgiven me." He grinned a wolfish grin as he took in her appearance. It was not the finest dress, nothing like she was wearing when they had first met, but it was a color other than black. He had always hated to see her wearing black. The fabric looked a bit faded, but it showed no signs of patching or any other repairs. Her hands were without gloves and the teeny glimpse that he had been granted of her shoes, for shoes were not so interesting as other articles of clothing and what they covered, had looked to be worn and old. But considering the appearance of other ladies that Rhett had seen lately that she looked like a queen before him, and she was doling out all of her charm upon him.

"Young ladies don't dare Yankee sentries to see a prisoner, just for charity's sweet sake, and come all dressed up in velvet and feathers and seal muffs too. Scarlett, how pretty you look! Thank God, you aren't in rags or mourning! I get so sick of women in dowdy old clothes and perpetual crepe. You look like the Rue de la Paix. Turn around, my dear, and let me look at you."

She laughed in soft excitement and spun about on her toes, her arms extended, her hoops tilting up to reveal the edges of her lace trimmed pantalets. His black eyes took her in from bonnet to heels in a glance that missed nothing, hungrily drinking in the site of her.

"You look very prosperous and very, very tidy. And almost good enough to eat. If it wasn't for the Yankees outside--but you are quite safe, my dear. Sit down. I won't take advantage of you as I did the last time I saw you." He rubbed his cheek with pseudo ruefulness. It had been a mighty hit for one so small. "Honestly, Scarlett, don't you think you were a bit selfish that night?" He needled her. "Think of all I had done for you, risked my life--stolen a horse--and such a horse! Rushed to the defense of Our Glorious Cause! And what did I get for my pains? Some hard words and a very hard slap in the face."

She sat down. "Must you always get something for your pains?"

"Why, of course! I am a monster of selfishness, as you ought to know. I always expect payment for anything I give."

She jingled her ear bobs as she replied, "Oh, you really aren't so bad, Rhett. You just like to show off."

"My word, but you have changed!" he said and laughed. "What has made a Christian of you? I have kept up with you through Miss Pittypat but she gave me no intimation that you had developed womanly sweetness. Tell me more about yourself, Scarlett. What have you been doing since I last saw you?" He needed to know what all had happened to her, needed to know that things were right.

She smiled and the dimple crept into her cheek. He drew a chair close beside hers and she leaned over and put a gentle hand on his arm. "Oh, I've been doing nicely, thank you, and everything at Tara is fine now. Of course, we had a dreadful time right after Sherman went through but, after all, he didn't burn the house and the darkies saved most of the livestock by driving it into the swamp. And we cleared a fair crop this last fall, twenty bales. Of course, that's practically nothing compared with what Tara can do but we haven't many field hands. Pa says, of course, we'll do better next year. But, Rhett, it's so dull in the country now! Imagine, there aren't any balls or barbecues and the only thing people talk about is hard times! Goodness, I get sick of it! Finally last week I got too bored to stand it any longer, so Pa said I must take a trip and have a good time. So I came up here to get me some frocks made and then I'm going over to Charleston to visit my aunt. It'll be lovely to go to balls again."

He was amazed, still slightly dazed by her presence beside him, dazed by the desires to take her and make her his forever. "You look beautiful in ball dresses, my dear, and you know it too, worse luck! I suppose the real reason you are going visiting is that you have run through the County swains and are seeking fresh ones in fields afar."

A sad look flitted across Scarlett's face as he observed her. She giggled self- consciously, "Oh, well," she said deprecatingly.

"You are a heartless creature, Scarlett, but perhaps that's part of your charm." He smiled in his old way, one corner of his mouth curving down, but she knew he was complimenting her. "For, of course, you know you have more charm than the law should permit. Even I have felt it, case-hardened though I am. I've often wondered what it was about you that made me always remember you, for I've known many ladies who were prettier than you and certainly more clever and, I fear, morally more upright and kind. But, somehow, I always remembered you. Even during the months since the surrender when I was in France and England and hadn't seen you or heard of you and was enjoying the society of many beautiful ladies, I always remembered you and wondered what you were doing."

She gently squeezed his arm and dimpled again. "Oh, Rhett, how you do run on, teasing a country girl like me! I know mighty well you never gave me a thought after you left me that night. You can't tell me you ever thought of me with all those pretty French and English girls around you. But I didn't come all the way out here to hear you talk foolishness about me. I came—I came—because--"

There was fear and worry etched in the lines of her face that he had not seen before. There was anxiety glittering in her eyes. Were those feelings stirred because she feared for his life. He couldn't help the burst of emotion that he felt in watching her. He needed to hear her confess her feelings, admit that she was worried because of him, "Because?"

She turned teary eyes upon him, "Oh, Rhett, I'm so terribly distressed about you! So frightened for you! When will they let you out of that terrible place?"

He couldn't have imagined that tremor in her voice as she fussed over his situation. And he swiftly covered her hand with his and held it hard against his arm.

"Your distress does you credit. There's no telling when I'll be out. Probably when they've stretched the rope a bit more." He added, hoping to squeeze more emotion from her hoping that she might confess more, and he could finally know that he had won her heart.

"The rope?" She cried.

"Yes, I expect to make my exit from here at the rope's end."

"They won't really hang you?"

"They will if they can get a little more evidence against me."

"Oh, Rhett!" she cried, her hand at her heart.

"Would you be sorry? If you are sorry enough, I'll mention you in my will." He grinned casually , as if facing his own death was of little consequence. And his dark eyes laughed at her recklessly and he squeezed her hand.

She hastily cast down her eyes trying fruitlessly to hide the glimmer that appeared there upon the mentioned of the will. What was she hiding? She had claimed that Tara was doing well. Why would the mention of his will so entice her to feeling.

He continued along tying to ferret out more details to discover her treachery. "According to the Yankees, I ought to have a fine will. There seems to be considerable interest in my finances at present. Every day, I am hauled up before another board of inquiry and asked foolish questions. The rumor seems current that I made off with the mythical gold of the Confederacy."

"Well--did you?" She asked and then almost immediately bit her tongue. There was something amiss here. Something was not quite right with her or Tara or her family. What had really happened after he left her at Rough and Ready? The question continued to plague him.

"What a leading question! You know as well as I do that the Confederacy ran a printing press instead of a mint."

"Where did you get all your money? Speculating? Aunt Pittypat said--"

"What probing questions you ask!" She was terribly excited at the mention of money. Was she here for money? Was she playing games with him trying to win his purse in a game of chance? And she was so on edge and odd that she was barely able to get the words out.

"Rhett, I'm so upset about your being here. Don't you think there's a chance of your getting out?" Why was she so desperate he wondered. And yet her clothes appeared to be in good order and certainly she looked thinner, but it seemed that everyone was thinner now, himself included. What piece of the puzzle was missing. And so he continued to play the game to get her to trip herself up.

"'Nihil desperandum' is my motto." He offered.

"What does that mean?" She asked with a blank expression in her eyes.

"It means 'maybe,' my charming ignoramus." Of course that was not quite the truth, but the beauty was that he knew that Scarlett would be none the wiser no matter what phrase he used. Never despair seemed fitting.

She fluttered her thick lashes up to look at him and fluttered them down again. "Oh, you're too smart to let them hang you! I know you'll think of some clever way to beat them and get out! And when you do--"

"And when I do?" he asked softly, leaning closer.

"Well, I--" she appeared confused and her face flushed. He could hear her breath shallow and heavy and her heart pounding madly. This was more than concern for him that had her so flustered. But she continued in her deception, and he caught in her charm and by his desire to protect her. "Rhett, I'm so sorry about what I--I said to you that night--you know--at Rough and Ready. I was--oh, so very frightened and upset and you were so--so--" She looked down as his brown hand tightened over hers. "And--I thought then that I'd never, never forgive you! But when Aunt Pitty told me yesterday that you--that they might hang you--it came over me of a sudden and I--I--" She looked up into his eyes, hers filled with longing and fear. "Oh, Rhett, I'd die if they hanged you! I couldn't bear it! You see, I--" This was the moment he was certain. He had finally won. She was going to admit that she loved him and the game would be over and he would have won. There was a hot leaping light in his eyes that he could not conceal. He could not contain it. Her lids fluttered down, and she looked to be on verge of tears.

He said quickly: "My God, Scarlett, you can't mean that you--" and his hands closed over hers tightly. She loved him. She hadn't let the words slip out yet, but was sure and the rush of emotion was heady at his triumph and even more exhilarating as he thought of taking her hand and then enjoying the rights that came with marriage.

His head was bent over her hands, and he lifted one and kissed it and, taking the other, laid it against his cheek for a moment. His heart felt so full and he couldn't even quite explain what he was feeling. Then he turned her hand over, palm up, to kiss it too, and suddenly he drew a quick breath.

Here was the missing piece of the puzzle. As he looked at her palm he knew that his instincts had been accurate. She was trying to deceive him, and things could not be going well at Tara, not with her hands looking like they did. Gone was the soft smooth skin that he remembered so well from the night when he had propositioned her to be his mistress. In its place was a hand that was rough from work, brown with sunburn, splotched with freckles. The nails were broken and irregular, there were heavy calluses on the cushions of the palm, a half-healed blister on the thumb. A red scar which had once been a blister was ugly and glaring. What had happened to those helpless ladies's hands that had once been his for the taking? And then he felt as she tensed and balled her hands into fists, and waited for his reaction, knowing that her treachery had been discovered.

Cont.


	34. When Pretense Falls

Jail Scene continued

Still he did not raise his head. Still he could feel her eyes boring into his skull. Finally he pried her fist open inexorably and stared at it, picked up her other hand and held them both together silently, looking down at them. His chest hurt. She had not been taken care of. She had worked like a field hand. What other things had she faced because of his desertion? But then he remembered how she had deceived him, how she had tried to fool him with her smiles and simpers. And more than being furious with her, he was furious with himself for being duped so completely. Another moment more and he would have proposed, made an utter fool of himself for her.

"Look at me," he said finally raising his head, and his voice was very quiet, veiling all of the anger and hurt and bitterness that he felt. "And drop that demure expression."

Unwillingly she met his eyes, defiance and perturbation on her face. His black brows were up and his eyes gleamed. "So you have been doing very nicely at Tara, have you? Cleared so much money on the cotton you can go visiting. What have you been doing with your hands—plowing?" It hurt, physically hurt to look at those hands, because even without an answer he knew some of what she had endured.

She tried away from him, but he held them hard, running his thumbs over the calluses. He had had slaves whose hands were softer, who had not paid so dear a price as that scared little girl that he had abandoned. "These are not the hands of a lady," he said and tossed them into her lap.

"Oh, shut up!" she cried. "Whose business is it what I do with my hands?"

"Your hands are certainly no business of mine," said Rhett coolly and lounged back in his chair indolently, his face a smooth blank. But her hands were his business and each callus, each blister, each broken nail was a dagger in his heart. He could not help but remember her as she had been that night, crying like a child in his arms, calling out for her mother. She had been so naïve to the world, although she would have bristled at that comment. But his wounded pride, coupled with his guilt, made him want to lash out at her, make her pay for her sins, while he owed no debt for his own.

"I think you're real rude to throw off on my poor hands. Just because I went riding last week without my gloves and ruined them--"

"Riding, hell!" he said in the same level voice. Was she a complete fool? She would have to be to think that such a feeble excuse could explain away those marks. "You've been working with those hands, working like a nigger. What's the answer? Why did you lie to me about everything being nice at Tara?" He pressed her, needing to know the truth now, needing to learn how she had survived.

"Now, Rhett--"

"Suppose we get down to the truth. What is the real purpose of your visit? Almost, I was persuaded by your coquettish airs that you cared something about me and were sorry for me." There was a sick feeling in his stomach, a certainty that she had been through just as much hell as he had, and yet it had marked her, marred her very soul.

"Oh, I am sorry! Indeed--"

"No, you aren't. They can hang me higher than Haman for all you care." She looked blankly at him. Of course she wouldn't remember the man from the Bible who had been hung on the gallows that he had built for the extermination of the Jews. It would have been a surprise for her to know that, even if it was tied to the story of Esther which Rosemary had once conspiratorially told him was her favorite story. "It's written as plainly on your face as hard work is written on your hands. You wanted something from me and you wanted it badly enough to put on quite a show. Why didn't you come out in the open and tell me what it was? You'd have stood a much better chance of getting it, for if there's one virtue I value in women it's frankness. But no, you had to come jingling your earbobs and pouting and frisking like a prostitute with a prospective client." And then he remembered well, asking her to be that very thing, asking her to become his mistress when he had really wanted to ask for her hand.

Something died in her eyes as his words, that glimmer of hope was extinguished to be replaced by a frightening empty void. "I suppose my memory is getting faulty. I should have recalled that you are just like me and that you never do anything without an ulterior motive. Now, let me see. What could you have had up your sleeve, Mrs. Hamilton? It isn't possible that you were so misguided as to think I would propose matrimony?"

Her face went crimson and she did not answer.

"But you can't have forgotten my oft-repeated remark that I am not a marrying man?" He could not give in to her now, not in the way that she had come to him. He could not let her win this game. There was too much on the line, and his wounded vanity would not allow it.

When she did not speak, he said with sudden violence: "You hadn't forgotten? Answer me."

"I hadn't forgotten," she said wretchedly.

"What a gambler you are, Scarlett," he jeered. "You took a chance that my incarceration away from female companionship would put me in such a state I'd snap at you like a trout at a worm." Or was there something else that she was offering? But even the thought of it made him only more disgusted with himself and with her and with the fools that began the wretched war to begin with. And yet he almost had done just that. He had nearly jumped on her like a duck on a June bug. But it wasn't just the site of a woman. It was the site of this woman in particular standing before him, needing him, at least he had thought that she needed him, wanted him as much as he wanted her.

"Now, we have most of the truth, everything except your reason. See if you can tell me the truth about why you wanted to lead me into wedlock." He was eerily calm and controlled, and he was thankful that she didn't understand him enough to know that the more came he became the more turmoil roiled inside. There was a suave, almost teasing note in his voice.

She pulled her face into a placating and childlike expression. "Oh, Rhett, you can help me so much--if you'll just be sweet."

"There's nothing I like better than being--sweet."

"Rhett, for old friendship's sake, I want you to do me a favor."

"So, at last the horny-handed lady comes to her real mission. I feared that 'visiting the sick and the imprisoned' was not your proper role. What do you want? Money?"

"Don't be mean, Rhett," she coaxed. "I do want some money. I want you to lend me three hundred dollars."

If he wasn't nearly as gifted at holding his poker face he might have laughed in horror. Three hundred dollars was no small sum. Three hundred dollars? Many men did not make that sum in a year, let alone now in this crushed republic. She might as well be asking for the moon. "The truth at last. Talking love and thinking money. How truly feminine! Do you need the money badly?"

"Oh, ye-- Well, not so terribly but I could use it."

And yet she had given herself away. That hungry odd light in her eyes was glowing like a candle in a cave. "Three hundred dollars. That's a vast amount of money. What do you want it for?"

"To pay taxes on Tara."

"So you want to borrow some money. Well, since you're so businesslike, I'll be businesslike too. What collateral will you give me?"

"What what?"

She was still naïve behind that hardened exterior. She had no business playing this game. She was completely out of her depths and one wrong move and she would sink beneath the waves and drown. He could explain a little to her at least. "Collateral. Security on my investment. Of course, I don't want to lose all that money." His voice was deceptively smooth, almost silky.

"My earrings." She looked at him earnestly, sincerely thinking that her little ear bods could secure such a sum.

"I'm not interested in earrings."

"I'll give you a mortgage on Tara."

"Now just what would I do with a farm?"

"Well, you could--you could--it's a good plantation. And you wouldn't lose. I'd pay you back out of next year's cotton."

"I'm not so sure." He tilted back in his chair and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Cotton prices are dropping. Times are so hard and money's so tight."

"Oh, Rhett, you are teasing me! You know you have millions!" There was a warm dancing malice in his eyes as he surveyed her.

"So everything is going nicely and you don't need the money very badly. Well, I'm glad to hear that. I like to know that all is well with old friends." He needled, wanting to see just how desperate she really was. He wanted her to lay herself on the line to prove that she was really in need. And he wanted her to pay a little for her crimes.

"Oh, Rhett, for God's sake . . ." she began desperately.

Perhaps he had pushed too far, she was more desperate than he realized, her voice too loud, so loud that he was worried that the Yankees might hear her. "Do lower your voice. You don't want the Yankees to hear you, I hope. Did anyone ever tell you you had eyes like a cat--a cat in the dark?"

She was trembling and desperate. "Rhett, don't! I'll tell you everything. I do need the money so badly. I--I lied about everything being all right. Everything's as wrong as it could be. Father is--is--he's not himself. He's been queer ever since Mother died and he can't help me any. He's just like a child. And we haven't a single field hand to work the cotton and there's so many to feed, thirteen of us. And the taxes-- they are so high. Rhett, I'll tell you everything. For over a year we've been just this side of starvation. Oh, you don't know! You can't know! We've never had enough to eat and it's terrible to wake up hungry and go to sleep hungry. And we haven't any warm clothes and the children are always cold and sick and--"

Within that muddled rush of words were so many heart breaks, so many things, too many things for her to have borne, and yet she had. Her mother was dead. Her mother, who she hadn't wanted more than anything, been willing to face down two armies to reach, was gone. And he wondered if she had even seen her before her death. That little girl lost look in her eyes, that hollowness told him that she hadn't. And then her father who she adored was nearly gone as well. She was so like a scared child. But sometimes children faced things that in other circumstances no child should ever deal with. And she had been working the fields like a field hand. Scarlett O'Hara the belle, now lowered so that she picked cotton and hoed the earth to survive. This was not the picture that he hoped to see. And yet with her father a fool and her mother dead, who was taking care of them all? And yet her appearance here answered that as well. It was all upon her shoulders. She was the only responsible for 13 people, for their room and board and all else. She was the one facing the enemy, keeping the wolf from the door. And yet the wolf that she fleeing was greater than she had power to combat. Now the thinness, the face nearly emaciated he could see was not a ruse. The rouge she wore was the deception. The clothes she wore were the costume to help her win this hand. But if all were so lacking in clothes and food, where had this pretty getup come from, and he couldn't help but ask. "Where did you get the pretty dress?"

"It's made out of Mother's curtains," she answered, too desperate to lie about this shame. "I could stand being hungry and cold but now--now the Carpetbaggers have raised our taxes. And the money's got to be paid right away. And I haven't any money except one five-dollar gold piece. I've got to have money for the taxes! Don't you see? If I don't pay them, I'll--we'll lose Tara and we just can't lose it! I can't let it go!"

"Why didn't you tell me all this at first instead of preying on my susceptible heart--always weak where pretty ladies are concerned?" Her eyes were tearing up, and she held no pretense back. She was really nothing more than the scared little girl that had begged for his help in fleeing Atlanta. She was a child that needed held and taken care of. She was shouldering a burden much to great for her to bear. But he could not stand the site of her tears. They would be his undoing, and all of his anger would be gone. He would do anything she asked because if she cried now, he would know that these tears were not a game, but tears of desperation and fear. If she cried, he would do whatever it took to stem their flow. It wouldn't matter what he had to do, he would do it. And yet, he held his calm detached air about him as he told her, "No, Scarlett, don't cry. You've tried every trick except that one and I don't think I could stand it. My feelings are already lacerated with disappointment at discovering it was my money and not my charming self you wanted."

She hastily looked up at him as if wondering if his feelings were really hurt? If he really care about her? He hoped that she did not realize that he had been on the verge of a proposal when he saw her palms? She was plotting. She could not hide her ever changeable emotions from him. He raked his black eyes over her in no lover-like way and he was laughing softly.

"I don't like your collateral. I'm no planter. What else have you to offer?" He offered, as if he were playing game that he didn't care of the outcome.

She drew a deep breath and met his eyes squarely, all coquetry and airs gone. "I--I have myself."

Here it was. "Yes?"

Her jaw line tightened to squareness and her eyes went emerald. "You remember that night on Aunt Pitty's porch, during the siege? You said--you said then that you wanted me."

He leaned back carelessly in his chair and looked into her tense face and his own dark face was inscrutable. He remembered, remembered that night all too clearly. but he said nothing.

"You said--you said you'd never wanted a woman as much as you wanted me. If you still want me, you can have me. Rhett, I'll do anything you say but, for God's sake, write me a draft for the money! My word's good. I swear it. I won't go back on it. I'll put it in writing if you like. I have got to have the money soon, Rhett. They'll turn us out in the road and that damned overseer of Father's will own the place and--"

"Just a minute. What makes you think I still want you? What makes you think you are worth three hundred dollars? Most women don't come that high." Of course she had no idea of the price that a whore would get, perhaps she thought that she was worth that price.

She blushed to her hair line. She obviously completely humiliated. "Why are you doing this? Why not let the farm go and live at Miss Pittypat's. You own half that house."

"Name of God!" she cried. "Are you a fool? I can't let Tara go. It's home. I won't let it go. Not while I've got breath left in me!"

"The Irish," said he, lowering his chair back to level and removing his hands from his pockets, "are the damnedest race. They put so much emphasis on so many wrong things. Land, for instance. And every bit of earth is just like every other bit. Now, let me get this straight, Scarlett. You are coming to me with a business proposition. I'll give you three hundred dollars and you'll become my mistress." If he allowed himself to think about having her as his own, as making her his. He remembered the feel of her lips yielding to his, her body responding hotly to him. He could taste her skin and hear her breath, catching in her throat as her pulse raced to him.

"Yes."

There was a diabolic gleam in his eyes as if something amused him greatly. He wanted to remind her of the time when he had offered the same to her, and she had hotly refused, though not of moral or societal repugnance. "And yet, when I had the effrontery to make you this same proposition, you turned me out of the house. And also you called me a number of very hard names and mentioned in passing that you didn't want a 'passel of brats.' No, my dear, I'm not rubbing it in. I'm only wondering at the peculiarities of your mind. You wouldn't do it for your own pleasure but you will to keep the wolf away from the door. It proves my point that all virtue is merely a matter of prices."

"Oh, Rhett, how you run on! If you want to insult me, go on and do it but give me the money."

She was breathing easier now. And her head went up. "Are you going to give me the money?"

He looked as if he were enjoying himself and when he spoke there was suave brutality in his voice. "No, I'm not," he said. The game was not yet over, and he was not prepared to end it just yet. He wanted her to be tortured just as she had tortured him.

"I couldn't give it to you, even if I wanted to." He admitted honestly. "I haven't a cent on me. Not a dollar in Atlanta." She looked at him in horror and disbelief. "I have some money, yes, but not here. And I'm not saying where it is or how much." He added just in case their conversation was being eavesdropped upon. "But if I tried to draw a draft on it, the Yankees would be on me like a duck on a June bug and then neither of us would get it. What do you think of that?"

He watched as her face went an ugly green, freckles suddenly standing out across her nose and her contorted mouth was like an animal in a killing rage. She sprang to her feet with an incoherent cry which made the hum of voices in the next room cease suddenly. Swift as a panther, he was beside her, his heavy hand across her mouth, his arm tight about her waist. She struggled against him madly, trying to bite his hand, to kick his legs. She bent and twisted every way against the iron of his arm, her pulse was racing, her breath growing more and more shallow the more that she fought. He held her so tightly, so roughly that he knew that it must hurt her and the hand over her mouth pinched into her jaws. He had no idea how desperate that she was, he had misjudged her. He was wrong. His face went white under its tan, his eyes hard and anxious as he lifted her completely off her feet, swung her up against his chest and sat down in the chair, holding her writhing in his lap.

"Darling, for God's sake! Stop! Hush! Don't yell. They'll be in here in a minute if you do. Do calm yourself. Do you want the Yankees to see you like this?"

He could tell that dizziness was sweeping over her. She could not breathe; she struggled against his hand as if he were choking her. Her stays must be digging into her skin compressing her life a vise. She was shaking with what he assumed was helpless hate and fury or it could be fear or all three. Then the struggle began to lessen as her body began to grow limp. He tried calling to her, tried to assure her in a a frenzied whisper that he would find a way to get the money, that she need not worry, and she looked at him through heavy eyes as if she could not quite hear what he had said. And then her eyes slipped shut and was completely limp in his arms. But even as a dead weight in his arms, she was much too slight. He knew that her confession of near starvation was no exaggeration. She left like a fragile bird that had fallen from the nest, and had not the strength needed to fly. And he wanted desperately to protect her the world.

He carefully leaned her back in the chair and took off her bonnet as he called hoarsely for help. The captain appeared at his side and was just as bewildered and nervous about the entire situation as Rhett. Of course it was said that Yankee women were less delicate creatures and not as prone to fainting. But she had never fainted once in the time that he had known her, even in moments when any other woman would have. She had laughed and joked about those women who did constantly faint. And yet to see her in such a state worried him more than he cared to admit. He didn't remember the last time that he had cared so much.

There were no smelling salts in the jail, nothing that could used to revive her. So he took her blistered calloused palm into his own and began slapping her wrist, trying to rouse her. The captain was pouring a glass of brandy, that would help once she came around. But his hand was shaking so badly that he spilled the contents down her neck, as Rhett continued in his methods to bring her round. The other officers hovered helplessly about, whispering and waving their hands.

"I--guess I must have fainted," she said, and her voice sounded so weak, weak in a way that he had never heard.

"Drink this," said Rhett, taking the glass and pushing it against her lips. She glared feebly at him as if she was too tired for anger.

"Please, for my sake." He coaxed.

She gulped and choked and began coughing but he pushed it to her mouth again. She swallowed deeply and shuddered. She was accustomed to strong drink, and he knew that the liquid was buring a path of fire down her throat.

"I think she's better now, gentlemen," said Rhett, "and I thank you very much. The realization that I'm to be executed was too much for her." He wanted the chance to tell her that he would find a way. And the group in blue shuffled their feet and looked embarrassed and after several clearings of throats, they tramped out. The young captain paused in the doorway.

"If there's anything more I can do--"

"No, thank you."

He went out, closing the door behind him.

"Drink some more," said Rhett.

"No." she responded stubbornly.

"Drink it."

She swallowed another mouthful and the warmth began spreading through her body and strength flowed slowly back into her shaking legs. She pushed away the glass and tried to rise but he pressed

her back. He couldn't have her fainting again. He didn't know if his heart could take it.

"Take your hands off me. I'm going." She twisted away, struggling to pull away from him and rise to her feet.

"Not yet. Wait a minute. You might faint again."

"I'd rather faint in the road than be here with you." She spat, venom on her lips.

"Just the same, I won't have you fainting in the road."

"Let me go. I hate you."

A faint smile came back to his face at her words. It was a relief to her the spirit in her voice. He had worried that the weight she was under had finally broken her. "That sounds more like you. You must be feeling better."

She relaxed for a moment, and he watched her face, looking for signs of what she was thinking or feeling. And he could see the defeat the clung to her. He could see that she had lost all, and yet he couldn't find the words to express what he was willing to do to come to her rescue. Stealing a dying horse was nothing compared the thoughts that flickered through his mind. For a long time she lay back with her eyes closed, and he sat watching, breathing heavily as the glow of the brandy crept gradually over her, giving a false strength and warmth. When finally she opened her eyes and looked him in the face, anger had roused again. As her slanting eyebrows rushed down together in a frown Rhett's old smile came back.

"Now you are better. I can tell it by your scowl."

"Of course, I'm all right. Rhett Butler, you are hateful, a skunk, if ever I saw one! You knew very well what I was going to say as soon as I started talking and you knew you weren't going to give me the money. And yet you let me go right on. You could have spared me--"

"Spared you and missed hearing all that? Not much. I have so few diversions here. I don't know when I've ever heard anything so gratifying." He laughed his sudden mocking laugh. At the sound she leaped to her feet, snatching up her bonnet. And yet even as he mocked her, he wondered why he did it, he wondered why he could not say the things that he needed to say. But he was certain that there would be time enough. Who else would have the money that she so desperately needed. No one had money like that setting around here in Atlanta for certain.

He suddenly took her by the shoulders firmly. "Not quite yet. Do you feel well enough to talk sense?"

"Let me go!"

"You are well enough, I see. Then, tell me this. Was I the only iron you had in the fire?" His eyes were keen and alert, watching every change in her face.

"What do you mean?"

"Was I the only man you were going to try this on?"

"Is that any of your business?"

"More than you realize. Are there any other men on your string? Tell me!"

"No."

"Incredible. I can't imagine you without five or six in reserve. Surely someone will turn up to accept your interesting proposition." He was glad that there was no one else. It would make it so much easier for him to sweep in and rescue her just as soon as he was released. He would take care of her and her people, but he wanted her to stew about her predicament for a time before he came in and saved the day. But to be certain her would give her a little word of advice to ease her on her way. "I feel so sure of it that I want to give you a little advice."

"I don't want your advice."

"Nevertheless I will give it. Advice seems to be the only thing I can give you at present. Listen to it, for it's good advice. When you are trying to get something out of a man, don't blurt it out as you did to me. Do try to be more subtle, more seductive. It gets better results. You used to know how, to perfection. But just now when you offered me your--er--collateral for my money you looked as hard as nails. I've seen eyes like yours above a dueling pistol twenty paces from me and they aren't a pleasant sight. They evoke no ardor in the male breast." And her eyes had changed. There was an iciness to them now, as if war and poverty and starvation had frozen her soul. She was not the same girl that he had encountered that long ago Spring day at a barbecue in a land that seemed made of dreams and fairytales. "That's no way to handle men, my dear. You are forgetting your early training."

"I don't need you to tell me how to behave," she said putting on her bonnet. He jammed in his pockets in hard fists, straining at his own impotence. He would find a way to change things, but for now there was nothing that he could do. And to tell her, to give her hope, when hope was not assured would only break her a little more. And as fragile as she was, as close to being shattered by one more adversity, he could not suffer her to endure more. And he was angry with himself for his situation, and angry at the world that had taken his power from him hen she needed him the most. "Cheer up," he said, as she tied the bonnet strings. "You can come to my hanging and it will make you feel lots better. It'll even up all your old scores with me--even this one. And I'll mention you in my will."

"Thank you, but they may not hang you till it's too late to pay the taxes," she said with a sudden malice.

And he watched as the scared little girl squared her shoulders and walked out the door and possibly out of his life. And he knew that he had to find a way to make things right, for she was desperate. And a desperate animal will do anything to survive. And Scarlett O'Hara was a survivor.


	35. Of Shakespearean Bards

Author's Note: Special shout out to Corrin who inspired parts of this chapter and to Capt Scarlett who helped me brainstorm.

Scarlett's lips were pursed as she stared intently at the play book in front of her as they tried to work on reciting the lines of the tale. Her eyes were squinted as she tried to focus. It amused him to watch her. Shakespeare and Scarlett O'Hara were not meant to be together. But it was amusing to watch her try.

"I don't know why they talk so funny. I think its stupid the way that they say things." She said with a pout. "Why didn't they choose something more simple for us to perform at the danceable. There surely must be something more sensible than this."

"If I may remind you, Miss O'Hara, it was you that insisted that you play Juliet." He offered, a glimmer of amusement in his dark eyes. "'I was born to play the part' I believe were your exact words". She had greedily claimed what she held to be the most romantic part for herself and had claimed Rhett as her partner since he was the only unmaimed man among the group. But now that she was reading the text, she was no longer as enthusiastic about the subject.

"Well, how was I to know that it would be so hard to understand. Why didn't they speak English?" She frowned.

"They are speaking English, the King's English to be exact, my beautiful ignoramus. Are you telling me that in the progress of your education that you had never read any of Shakespeare's works?" He grinned broadly as he watched her from across the parlor where she was supposed to be entertaining him.

"Well, I never claimed to be one of those silly people that walked around with their head in a book at all times. That was never one of the subjects that I excelled at."

"If you would prefer we could do a different scene. Perhaps we could do the death scene and then you would only need to say..." he paused as he flipped through the sheaf of papers. " 'dagger here is thy sheaf" and a few other short lines."

"No!" She exclaimed seemingly horrified by the thought of having a smaller part. "I'm sure that I can die beautifully, but I prefer to be admired.... that is what you said that Romeo's lines meant, right?"

He tried to hide his amusement at her, as he replied in the affirmative. "...and Juliet is the sun, arise fair sun and kill the envious moon..."

Scarlett quickly interrupted. "How is that extolling my beauty when you are talking about something as vile as murder. I think that this is a foolish story. How romantic can it be when they both die in the end? I think that she would have been better off marrying that Paris guy." She fumed.

"Those words mean that there is no one that can compare to your unmatched beauty, dear Scarlett. And although I do tend to agree that this story isn't nearly as romantic as it is lauded, I'm surprised at you for thinking that. I assumed that you would be a fan, since Shakespeare is one of your beloved Ashley's favorite indulgences."

As he had anticipated, she bristled at the comment and turned her angry flashing eyes back to his face. "I don't see why you have to be so nasty. He is very refined, something that you can't understand." She retorted.

"Yes, I know that I can not hope to hold a candle to dear Mr. Wilkes..." He whispered loudly.

"Would you hush! Melanie or Pittypat might hear you!" She returned.

"Yes, yes, you are certainly all about appearances. You know, I tend to think that the Taming of the Shrew might have been a more appropriate choice for you to act in."

She frowned at him in confusion, obviously not aware of his meanings. "I'm sure that I don't know what you mean. However I know you are only being nasty and vile. How dare you call me a shrew. I think that you should leave."

"Then I apologize and will rephrase that, I think Katarina would a most suitable part for you, and I would be your Petruchio."

"Oh, just get on with it, I dote care who Kat...a Kat...., of who ever she is and Petru.... Petruchio? I wish you would leave me alone at times."

"Oh, you don't want me to leave. You are rather enjoying yourself even if you have realized that some of the so called greatest romances of all time mean that everyone is going to die. And besides you would hate to let down such a glorious cause as ours. No, I will stay. And we will rehearse, even if you don't like the language that the bard uses."

She frowned again. "I don't know who the bard is." She stated hotly.

At this confession Rhett's head jerked back as he let out a deep rumbling laugh. "There is not enough civilization in the South to cultivate you into anything other than what you are."

At the moment while Rhett was still chuckling at the expression on Scarlett's face, Melanie entered carrying a tray laden with lemonade and cookies, freshly retrieved from running the blockade. "I thought that the two of you deserved some refreshments after all of your hard work on preparing this selection. I do so enjoy theater, but I was always much too shy to participate. I'm so terribly proud of my brave sister-in-law. She isn't afraid of anything at all." Melanie praised.

"Yes, well, we haven't gotten very far into which one we should choose. Would you like to share your wisdom with us?" Rhett asked without a trace of mocking.

"I don't understand why this story is so famous or why anyone thought that it should be one of the ones included." Scarlett interjected.

"Oh, but darling Scarlett, don't you see how relevant it is. Why imagine if you had fallen in love with a Yankee instead my darling brother. Imagine how your parents would have objected so vehemently. They would no more want you to marry a Yankee than Juliet's parents approved of her marrying or loving a Montague. Its all so tragic that sometimes it simply makes me cry." Melanie explained.

"Well, I think she would have been better off marrying the Prince. Isn't that what all little girls dream of, marrying their prince? And everyone wouldn't have had to die." Scarlett was still obviously not pleased with the discussion as she pouted with her lips pouting and her eyes downcast.

"As I recall, when I was in school, when we were reading this story, our teacher asked the class what the meaning of this story was. I raised my hand, and when I raised my hand no one else dared to raise theirs. And I said that I thought that the lesson was that bad things happen when you don't listen to my parents." He chuckled and Melanie giggled while Scarlett looked on glowering at them both.

"What on earth did the teacher do?" Melanie asked in shock that anyone would speak to a teacher in such a way.

"Ahh, he wasn't overly fond of me to begin with, and so he took my answer as an example of my defiance. I couldn't sit down for a week after that, nor did my father take too kindly to it either. And yet it was one of those rare times when I was actually innocent."

Melanie smiled benignly at him, and then rose. "I need to tend to other matters, and I know that you both need to focus on your work."

She smiled shyly as she left the room, leaving Scarlett and Rhett to resume their practicing.

"Well, then. I think that we should try reading through the scene to begin with. I think that we should try acting this out on the stairs. It would give it more the proper feel, don't you think?" He smiled that feline grin of his, as he led her into the entry hall.

"As long as we are both quiet. I wouldn't want to wake Wade from his nap." She replied sharply as she stepped up the stairs until she was a third of the way up the stairs and able to look down at Rhett from her perch.

He leaned against the wall, staring intently at her as he began to recite the lines without aid of the book. Each line pronounced crisply and clearly and very full of emotion that he hoped that she was too blind to see. " But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun." He watched Scarlett's face as she stood staring off into the distance, trying to appear nonchalant, and for a moment he wondered what it was about her that had so transformed her that no other woman quite compared to her. "Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou her maid art far more fair than she: Be not her maid, since she is envious; Her vestal livery is but sick and green And none but fools do wear it; cast it off." Scarlett looked bored and disinterested as he recited the lines until he spoke again, the emotion thick in his voice. "It is my lady, O, it is my love! O, that she knew she were!" And he couldn't help but wonder how life would be if she did know. How would he survive if she knew just how deeply he was affected by her presence. And he wondered, and not for the first time if this was what love really was. "She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that? Her eye discourses; I will answer it. I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks: Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do entreat her eyes To twinkle in their spheres till they return. What if her eyes were there, they in her head? The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars, As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven Would through the airy region stream so bright  
That birds would sing and think it were not night. See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!  
O, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek!"

"How can anyone take this seriously? What kind of fool would say such things?" She sniped. "Oh, never mind. Let's just get this thing over with." She rested her elbow on the railing and her chin in her hand before uttering, "Ay me."

So he continued, watching her to see if any of the words that he spoke would sink in to her thick head. "She speaks:  
O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art  
As glorious to this night, being o'er my head  
As is a winged messenger of heaven  
Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes  
Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him  
When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds  
And sails upon the bosom of the air."

She rolled her eyes, but then read the lines from the book unemotionally.

"O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?  
Deny thy father and refuse thy name;  
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,  
And I'll no longer be a Capulet."

Rhett moved as if in a trace, as if he had been taken over by the ghost of the bards ill-fated lover. "Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?" And then she continued,

"'Tis but thy name that is my enemy;  
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.  
What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,  
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part  
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!"

Scarlett stopped in her discourse, to snort indignantly. "This is a load of rubbish, Rhett. A Yankee would still be a Yankee, just as even if I wasn't called a Georgia Belle, I still would be. Surely there is something happier than this for us to perform."

"Trust me, my pet. It only gets worse from here. Here they are alive and in love. They don't last much longer." Rhett replied to her outburst. "Pray continued, Mrs. Hamilton."

"Fine." She wrinkled her nose in distaste as she read farther.

"What's in a name? that which we call a rose  
By any other name would smell as sweet;  
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,  
Retain that dear perfection which he owes  
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,  
And for that name which is no part of thee  
Take all myself."

Rhett was suddenly overwhelmed by a desire to take all of her as his. Yet is made no sense that this young ignorant, foolish widow had him so entranced. She was none of the things that he had always looked for in a woman, and yet here he was, sacrificing life and limb to be near her, and yet he wasn't even brave enough to confess it.

"I take thee at thy word:  
Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized;  
Henceforth I never will be Romeo."

Scarlett nearly jumped at the way he spoke the words, and replied in kind,

"What man art thou that thus bescreen'd in night  
So stumblest on my counsel?"

But then the spell was broken, as the sounds from the top of the stairs, alerted them both to the fact that Wade had indeed been awakened from his nap. And Rhett knew that when the child had just awakened that he would most likely need changed, and then he would require his mother's undivided attention. "Don't worry, Miss Hamilton," as he once again fluctuated between informality and informality with. "We can pick this up again later, when your son isn't so insistent on your immediate presence", as the sound of the infant crying pierced the air. "He'll be a strong one some day with lungs like those" he jested.

And then he gathered his hat from the parlor and let himself out as Scarlett rushed up the stairs. And he couldn't help but wonder that perhaps Romeo and Juliet had felt things that up until meeting Scarlett he had only scoffed at and thought of as the stuff of fairytales. And yet he couldn't help but still think that his innocent words from childhood were true as well. Bad things did happen when you didn't listen to your parents. And yet still he had survived.


	36. When Darkness Falls

_Author's Note: I'm warning you ahead of time. This is a continuation of the Bonnie's death stuff. So you might want a hankie. Sorry that this was so long in coming. I hope to be getting back into the swing of things. I'm getting ready to pull out Gura and see if I can update it this weekend as well. Thanks again to all of my readers and all of friends here in the GWTW fanfic community._

The sun had already set by the time that he rose up from the side of her grave. His knees protesting and creaking in agony from remaining in such an unnatural position for such a long time. He was terrified to leave her. Terrified because once he left the grave that it was all over. There was use pretending that she was still with him. And he felt guilty because he was leaving her in the dark. He was leaving her alone and she would have been terrified if she could have still been fearful.

He wanted to believe in something beyond the here and now. He wanted to believe in heaven. He wanted to believe that his Bonnie was happy and in a bright place. Did life really end at death? It seemed so pointless to live such a short life and not have anything else to look forward to.

But if there was a heaven, it still didn't mean that he would ever see Bonnie again. He had lived a life of vice and sin. He could never attain heaven, not in million years could he pay for his crimes enough to find forgiveness. At least Scarlett wouldn't either, her sins were as many as his. But perhaps Bonnie was in heaven playing with her brother or sister that had never been born. He hoped that she was safe and happy. And he hoped that she wasn't angry with him.

But selfishly a part of him hoped that she wasn't happy, that she could never be happy away from him. How could he love his child so much and not hope for her to be happy? But if he was truthful with himself, he missed her so much that even now it felt like his heart was going to shatter from the pain. Bonnie had been his world. What would his life be like without her?

He couldn't imagine it. He knew that he could not go back to life as it had been. He barely remembered that life from before Bonnie came and made his life bright and shining. He couldn't live like she had never been born. She had changed him. Loving her had made him a different person. And missing her was changing him into someone that he didn't recognize.

He needed a drink, and needed it badly. He needed a drink more than he had ever needed a drink in his life. Rarely had drink been his master. He had been in control. He was always in control. And in the instant that her light had burned away, he had lost all semblance of control and power. She was his Achilles heel. He needed that dulling liquor to make him forget, give him a moment of peace from this torment and agony. He couldn't deal with the knowledge that he was to blame for her death. He wasn't ready, and he didn't know that he ever would be ready.

But where could he go? He couldn't go home. He couldn't follow Scarlett and sit across the table from her as she and her children lived when his was gone. He couldn't face Wade and Ella, couldn't deal with the guilt of taking their little sister from them. And He couldn't face Scarlett knowing that Bonnie would have one day looked much the same. And yet he had no friends. There was no one that he could go to mourn and to grieve. The only place that seemed even a remote possibility was to go to Belle's. And that was disgraceful. All of Atlanta would watch him and say that he was disgracing Bonnie's memory. They would accuse him of dishonoring her, but what did a reputation matter anymore? It wasn't as if Bonnie needed it to be accepted. Bonnie was gone. She was gone.

There was none of the usual confidence in his carriage or grace in his stride as he slowly shuffled away from the small mound of dirt that cloaked the coffin that hid his darling from him. Her death had broken him. Like the defeat of the Confederacy had broken his father, so her death had ruined him. He was nothing more now than an empty shell of the man he had once been. There was no humor or light in his eyes. It had been snuffed out along with hers. His Bonnie wouldn't even know him.

His steps were slow, and he dragged his feet as he walked down Peachtree street towards the section of downtown where Belle's establishment was, since there was no where else to go. He needed someone to tell him that he wasn't to blame that would help him drown his sorrows. He needed someone to counter the angry words that Scarlett had hurled at him through that locked door. He couldn't go home. He didn't know how he could ever go back there knowing that Bonnie was gone. How could be face it that house so full of memories of Bonnie and Scarlett? How could he face Scarlett, with her face so like his child's. How could he look at her and not see their child who was gone?

As he finally shuffled into the bar room, he could feel the eyes of all of the patrons of the establishment fixed upon him. They were all sitting there enjoying the company of women that were not theirs. And yet even in a place where they should be shamed, they were still gawking at him. He could feel their morbid curiosity and their sympathy. Damn it! He didn't want their sympathy. He didn't want anything from anyone. No one could give him what it was that he needed.

Belle however seemed to be able to read the emotions that briefly flickered across his face and ushered him into a private parlor away from watching eyes. "How, ya doing sugar?" Belle asked sympathetically as she shut the door behind him.

He looked up at her, looked into her eyes, and she shuddered at the intensity of the pain that was reflected in the unmasked dark depths. "I need a drink." He replied simply.

Belle paused for a moment, almost afraid to leave him. She had never seen him like this, not even in the last several days since Bonnie's death. She supposed that the reality was finally setting in, and the shock was falling away to more intense emotions. He looked like the world had shattered, and he was merely a ghost walking among the living.

"I need a drink, Belle." His voice cracked as he repeated himself.

"You look like you need it pretty badly." She countered.

"Please Belle, please." He replied as tears spilled from his eyes.

How odd it was to see Rhett cry. He was not a man given to emotional outbursts and tears. She couldn't leave him alone, not like this and so she grabbed a hidden bottle of bourbon from a cabinet where she kept her personal supply so that it was always ready at hand. She set it on the table, and moved to get a glass, but before she returned he had already uncapped it and was swallowing it like a man in the desert dieing of thrist.

"Slow down, Rhett. You're going to make yourself sick." She cautioned, eying the already half empty bottle.

"What does it matter, Belle." He gulped another mouthful of the amber liquid with a shudder. "No one cares if I die. Everyone would think that I finally had gotten what I deserved. I can burn in Hell for eternity for all anyone here in the whole South cares." He said flatly as he set the now nearly empty bottle on the table with a clink.

"Ahh, sugar. I care. You know I do." She said petting his hair as he rested it on the table in front of him.

"But she doesn't care." He murmured softly.

"Who doesn't care?" Belle quizzed.

"Scarlett. Scarlett wants me dead. I killed two of her children, and nearly killed her. She would rather that I was dead." He slurred. The alcohol had already begun its work.

"Sugar, have you eaten anything. You shouldn't drink like this on an empty stomach." Belle moved towards the door to summon one of the girls.

But he shuddered, "I can't eat. Don't bother."

"Anyway, what does it matter what she thinks? She doesn't deserve you." Belle said in a smooth voice, trying to appeal to him.

At this his head jerked up, his eyes blazing with anger. "She doesn't deserve what I've put her through!"

"She treats you horribly. You wouldn't be her with me, if she didn't sugar." Belle tried to place a consoling hand on his shoulder, and he jerked away from her.

"If you were a man I would have killed you for saying that." He yelled. "Don't you know what I've done? How can you say that?"

"She accused you of murdering your own child. You told me so yourself. She turned you from her bed, and you think it was because of Ashley Wilkes." Belle countered confused that he was angry with her. She had done nothing other than befriend him and listen to his tale of woe.

"I did murder Bonnie. It's my fault she died. I can't blame Scarlett for accusing me of the truth, now can I." his voice was brimming with anger and resignation. "I could have refused to allow her to turn me away. I could have done things differently."

"I'm only repeating what you have told me. I thought you need a friend to confide in, to tell you that you aren't to blame." She replied churlishly.

He picked up the bottle and finished the contents and then took another from Belle and did the same. "But I am to blame. I knew better. I knew that that damned pony's legs were too short for a higher jump. I had told her no. But then she went ahead and I laughed it off saying that if she fell off she shouldn't cry to me. Scarlett was furious with me. She didn't want Bonnie jumping. It terrified her. She wanted to wrap the children in cotton and never let go." He paused to take another swig off of the bottle. "If I had listened to her for once Bonnie wouldn't be dead"

"Then go home, your precious wife." Belle sneered. "Go back and face her like a man instead of a coward. I'll get a driver to take you. You are in no fit condition to make it on your own. You'd probably end up lying dead in the street."

Tears began coursing down his face once more. "How can I sleep in that house, in my bed with Bonnie's bed empty beside me? How am I supposed to do this Belle?" He cried. "I need another drink." He added as he tossed the now empty bottle to the side.

"You'll kill yourself if you drink like this. You know better, Rhett."

"To hell with you!" He roared as he pushed himself from the table and staggered to the door. "I'll drink until I can't remember my name. I'll drink until I'm dead. I'd be better off dead. I'd be better off where I can't remember what I've done to my baby."

"Get out of here!" Belle screeched as she followed him out the back door. "I'm no help to you. I don't know that anyone can help you. I think that you are too far gone." She then sobered, "I'm sorry that Bonnie is gone. I' m so sorry for you, but that doesn't give you the right to be an ass. And thats what you are being. I won't listen to it. I won't let you treat me like that. I've been your friend for years, and I don't take kindly to the things you are saying."

"I'm sorry, Belle." He whispered. "I'm sorry." He whispered again as he slumped against the seat of the carriage with his hands shielding his face from the world. "She's gone. She's really gone." He cried, as the carriage pulled away from the bright, noisy whore house and drove towards the looming dark, shuttered mansion on Peachtree street where no sound would pierce the night.


	37. Courtly Love

_Author's Note: I apologize for my erratic posting. This is chronologically right after Scarlett and Rhett practice the scene from Romeo and Juliet. I've gone back to college for a second degree and my time has been consumed recently with making costumes for the upcoming show. I love costumes! But my professor chose to do a play with a large cast (35) and each person needs at least two costumes. Yeah I know that is an insane number of costumes considering that my college doesn't have a costume shop. So that is one of the ways that I have been spending my time. And they are all from the 60's and they need to all be accurate. It has been an all consuming task! But I am a little ahead with that and my classes, so I decided to share this. I am also taking Brit Lit to 1800, so you are seeing some of the things that I have been reading and discussing (such as courtly love). But I think for the most part these things are things that Rhett would have been familiar with, so I think that they can be relevant. Thanks for reading!_

They performed their scene to much applause, although it was quite obvious that Scarlett was not pleased with the selection that she had chosen. But once people were clapping and congratulating them on a job well done, she was appeased. She was now making her rounds, milking more compliments from unsuspecting people gathered for the occasion.

He sat watching her from across the room, her bright green eyes dancing with amusement and happiness as she fluttered like a butterfly among the various men sitting around Mrs. Meade's Parlor. She was truly at her most charming at the moment, so recently freed from the chrysalis of mourning. Her dress was pale lavender, which was considered appropriate in the latter stages of mourning, and although she hadn't quite reached the correct time to wear that shade, she was still clinging in some ways to a grief that had never reached her heart.

And yet that loyalty, for in her own way she was still showing her loyalty to her husband of such a brief span of time, made him continuously fall deeper in lust and could it be more... with her. She was so much more than a body. She was intelligent, much more so than anyone else noticed. She was one of a kind.

But he would never tell her, could never tell her. The lessons of his childhood would forever be branded on his heart. The years of reading tales of King Arthur and his court couldn't be forgotten. The rules of chivalry and courtly love were seared on his brain like a branding iron. And the one that he adhered to most of all was that "when made public love rarely endures". And to utter those words would give her power over him, and certainly it was true that his thoughts were constantly consumed by thoughts of her. But it was said that love like this was constantly increasing and decreasing and what would be the benefit to give her that power if he suddenly didn't love her any longer. But this new love of loving her and sent all past loves to flight. They were erased from his heart and mind, and yet he didn't even know why he had fallen so completely for an uneducated child.

It wasn't as if he adhered to the rules religiously. He had lied many times. He had cheated at cards to make his fortune, or at least to take care of himself. He had shown little respect for authority over the years. But then still the rules of be polite and attentive, exhibit manners, they were all being followed. He couldn't quite point out why he followed the rules that he did. But he believed in chivalry, although if anyone had accused him of such he would have denied it vehemently.

He was a little startled to find that Scarlett had worked her way across the room, flirting with every single man present. But now she was standing before him, Her dimples flashing merrily as waited for him. "You look beautiful, Scarlett. Lavender is so much more flattering than black." He said with a grin.

Instantly her smile faded as her lines drew into a tight line. "Oh, hush Rhett. You shouldn't talk about such things."

He chuckled deeply, "you little hypocrite. You would have been pleased with the compliment if it hadn't reminded you that I have drawn you out of mourning sooner than people think is right."

Her eyes narrowed, and she turned with a huff.

"Oh, don't be such a dramatist Scarlett. And besides lavender is a much more attractive shade on you. Black makes you look like a crow."

He watched as her brows rose in indignation at being called a crow. He could always count on Scarlett to only listen to what she thought was the point of what he was saying. Today she had decided to be offended no matter what compliments that he offered.

"I think that you should take me home." She told him stonily.

"Fine," Rhett replied. "I'll go get the carriage."

He slipped out the door and quickly brought the carriage around. Scarlett hurried towards him, her skirt balled in her fist. He quickly swung down from his perch and lifted her into the conveyance before climbing back up to sit beside her.

"I don't know why you have to be such a skunk. You shouldn't mention things like that while we are in public. People already have a poor enough opinion of me already. You don't need to go making things worse." She frowned as she smoothed her skirts and settled in beside him.

"You are so preoccupied with what everyone around here thinks. Don't you realize that it doesn't really matter what they think." He replied smoothly as he took the reins and urged his horse forward.

"Yes, I know. You say that with enough money a person can live without a reputation, but perhaps you didn't notice but I'm living like little more than a pauper. It's this war. And if I spurn them, who would I talk to? You act like everything is so simple, when it really isn't." She said, her eyes glowing with emerald fire.

"Things are rarely easy and never simple, my pet." He countered.

"Would you stop being so glib!" She exclaimed. "This is my life that we are talking about!"

"People should enjoy you for being the person that you are. I find artifice so cloying. You are quite the interesting person when you aren't playing the part of the southern belle."

She squawked at this, "But that is who I am! What do you expect me to act like? A yankee? You drive me crazy! Can't you hurry your stupid horse up and get me back to Aunt Pitty's!"

"So that you can pine about your dear Ashely? Or are you hoping that Melanie has left one of Ashley's letters laying around so that you can hold it to your check and pretend that it is yours?" He asked with little expression. Another one of those courtly rules that flashed through his mind. You didn't love if you weren't jealous. And he was so jealous that he couldn't escape the emotion. It seemed that he was constantly plagued by it.

"Oh, you cad!" She screeched. "Let me out of this carriage! I shan't ride with you ever again! You are such a horrid, horrid person! You are cruel and mean." She struggled to rise with the carriage still moving.

"Sit back down before you kill yourself. We are almost back to Aunt Pitty's." With one movement of his hand she fell back into her seat and then turned to glare at him.

"You are the most horrid person that I have ever met!"

"You are such an endearing person. So charming." He mocked.

"I hate you! And I think that you are vile! And I never want to see you again!"

With luck they pulled up in front of the Hamilton home, and Scarlett lept from the carriage without Rhett's assistance. "Go away! And don't come a gain!"

Rhett just laughed and flicked the reins as he drove away. It wouldn't be long until she forgave him. It would take nothing more than some small token to woo his way back into her good graces. She would be on his mind until then, and he would be wondering if his love for her would one day fade suddenly to never be revived again, for after all that was another one of the rules of courtly love.


	38. Honeymoon Realizations

He'd had no idea. He certainly had realized that food hadn't been abundant at Tara while he was battling it out in the trenches, but he had been sadly ignorant of the truth. Perhaps he should have asked Melanie, for she would have known, but no Melanie would likely have seen that as betrayal to Scarlett. Mammy would have known as well, but she wouldn't dare confide any matters like that in him of all people. Hell, she'd probably confide in Belle Watling before she would confide in him. Well, no he doubted that she would ever lower herself by talking with a person with Belle's reputations, in fact the thought of it was enough to cause him to start to chuckle.

But the truth was that Scarlett had starved. She hadn't told him, hadn't mentioned much about that missing span of time, other than glib assurances that they had done just fine, thank you very much. But now watching as she greedily scraped her plate asking for more food until he was concerned that she would explode, or at very least become violently ill, because he was certain that no body that small could process that much. And yet their was a wildness in her eyes a she hovered over her plate shoveling the food in her mouth like a field hand, barely taking the time to breathe between bites, all done in a very unladylike manner. She had been changed, and not just strengthened as he has previously thought.

Finally he commented on her eating habits, mocking her for her over indulgence. ""You eat as though each meal were your last," said Rhett. "Don't scrape the plate, Scarlett. I'm sure there's more in the kitchen. You have only to ask the waiter. If you don't stop being such a glutton, you'll be as fat as the Cuban ladies and then I shall divorce you."

But she only put out her tongue at him and ordered another pastry, thick with chocolate and stuffed with meringue. He wished that there was a way to undo the damage that had been done, but surely with some time she would grow accustomed to having the food she needed and she would lose that horrible vacant hunted look that he could still glimmering in her eyes.

She did seem to be enjoying the access to alcohol. It was obvious that she had not had much of an opportunity to drink much other than the brandy that Aunt Pitty had kept for medicinal purposes. It didn't take much drinking before she was tipsy and giddy. He loved to see her like this, it was as if she were a child again. She would giggle and sing, and she was much more receptive to his intentions once they were back in their suite at the end of the night. Well, she wasn't exactly receptive, but neither did she resist. She was very languid once plied with enough champagne and sweets. And he very much enjoyed holding her and caressing her and kissing her. And she would occasionally respond with quiet sighs that certainly did not loathe him. The alcohol made her much more welcoming. She would smile up at him, and very timidly at hims run the tips of her fingers across his cheek.

But even stuffed to the point that she sometimes went, nothing drove away that trace of fear in her eyes. Even drunk to the point of stumbling, it still remained. Surely after time, surely she would get past that. Once she was used to being taken care of and not worrying about money and where her next meal would come from she would be fine. The worry about her could not escape him.

He loved to take her shopping, for she looked so lovely in the dresses that she tried on, and for moments that look was masked by the joy of having new and pretty things. He watched her with an irrepressible grin as she tried on dress after dress. It was amusing to let her have her say, only to end up laughing at her atrocious taste. She had a penchant for ostentation. If he had allowed her complete say she would have ended up looking like a madam of a high priced whore house and not a lady. Not that she was ever going to really be a lady. That was something that he loved about her. She was as brash and brassy as he had ever been in his youth. There was something about her that was wild and untamable. And he loved that about her, how could he not. She was a free spirit.

Her eyes glowed and at times it seemed that the smiles and laughter reached inside and doused that flame that fear had fed. And in those moments when the pinched cheeks filled out, when her narrowed eyes opened full, that he could see just how breathtaking she really was. She wasn't a conventional beauty. There was nothing conventional about who she was. But the beauty was real all the same. When all convention fell aside she took his breath away, not that he ever let her know just how stunning she was.

He loved to lie in bed next to her and watch her as she peacefully slept. Her brow was smooth, and her ebony lashes fanned across her creamy skin. Her lips would occasionally open and a faint sigh would escape her lips. She looked like an angel when she was sleeping. Of course, sleep was the only moment that anyone could ever equate Scarlett to an angel.

So he was shocked the first night that she had woken him with cries. Her legs and arms thrashed about the bed, and her tears had soaked his chest where her head had been resting. She was literally shaking as he woke her, and she clung to him desperately as a leaf clings to a branch when a violent storm blows through.

He had held her and brushed the hair away from her face that the tears had helped to hold to her skin. She whimpered and sighed and muttered incomprehensible things as the tears continue to pour out. And again he wondered just what had happened in that period of time that they had been apart. He had even asked her at one point, but she refused to speak about it. She had told him in very simple terms that it was none of his business and that she would not talk about it. And that was something that he could appreciate, because there were things that he had gone through during his stint in the CSA that he didn't want to tell anyone about, but he wondered that if she would tell him, then perhaps it might allow her to heal.

But he pressed her no further on that issue and only pretended that it did not exist. Like the matter of Scarlett's infatuation with Ashley, he merely set it at the back of his mind and tried to forget about until those moments when she woke him with her terrors. He hid those worries and concerns and assured himself that Scarlett would be none the wiser. She was generally quite oblivious to all but herself. She would never know what he did not say.

And just as he did some of the most horrifying experiences of his life from her such as the battles at the end of the war when he knew that the cause was already lost and gone and they were fighting for nothing, he did his deepest feeling from her as well. She would never know that he loved her. He would never tell her. She would never know about his feelings of jealousy concerning Ashley for it was even hard for him to admit to himself. She would never know about the nights that he had spent worrying about her while they had been apart. At least in that respect, he had had good reason to worry, apparently. But nor would he tell her about the nights that he had been dreaming about making her his.

The most difficult thing about being married to her was that now there was no where to run when his feelings overwhelmed him. He would taunt and tease her until she screamed and ranted, ordering him out of her presence. He didn't have the escape of leaving her at Aunt Pitty's house and fleeing to his hotel room. Now when he went to bed at night, she was beside him. And just as much as he pleasured in finally claiming her as his own and knowing the Ashley knew that she was now his, he dreaded that she would learn of what was hidden in his heart. For it is only possible to live beneath the mask of a gambler for so long. Eventually the truth would be revealed.

And so there was an odd tension in the room as they fell asleep at night. He had assumed that once she was his, that this incessant flood of thoughts would stop. He had thought that the only way to rid himself of his feelings would be to claim her, but that plan had failed him. And now he was trapped in a marriage with a woman who didn't love him, but that he loved with all of his heart. And he could never tell her.

He only hoped that she would learn to love him, that somehow she would switch her allegiance from the woolly-headed Wilkes to her husband. He only hoped that she would love him as much as he loved her.


	39. The Last Christmas

Author's Note : Yes, I'm still here and working on several chapters for Scalawag. thanks for reading, as always! Merry Christmas!

The Last Christmas

The air was bitingly cold, at least it seemed that way after the warm Indian Summer that had just passed. And his heart was cold as well. Things had never changed between he and Scarlett since the accident. He couldn't bear to think of it as anything other than an accident, for even thinking of it as it truly was was more than he could stand.

It was difficult to look at her, to watch her for he knew that something had broken inside of her, something irreparably damaged. And yet he still wanted to maintain that peace between them to last and to become more than a cool polite silence as it currently was.

He had thought that nothing could best her, that she was invincible yet now the thin, pinched faced woman before him looked brittle and frail as an ancient grandmother rocking the hours away until the end. And he could see that she was trying to reach out for someone to notice, but he could do nothing to help her. He was as powerless as she was.

She moved mechanically, looking like a fragile china doll, as she went about her daily life. He wondered if she still resented his interference in coercing her into selling the mills to Ashley? And yet she never mentioned them, as if mentioning anything would be allowing him to triumph over her.

But Bonnie certainly had embraced the joy of Christmas, as only a child can. Her eyes sparkled like sapphires amid a thousand candles as she gazed at the bare space below the tree where she remembered presents hiding. Of course most children only received small gifts hidden among the branches, but it had been impossible for him to resist showering her with gifts, for she was his reason for being. She deserved whatever it was that her little heart desired.

And she was not selfish, for he made certain that she had enough gifts that she was not jealous of the gifts that surrounded the tree for Wade and Ella as well. Perhaps the gifts were nothing other than his guilt manifesting itself, for he paid little attention to them, for they reminded him too much of their mother. And he spent little time with them, channeling all of his attention into the narrow channel that was Bonnie. And yet neither of Scarlett older children ever complained, not that he had given them much of a chance.

They had a pleasant dinner the evening before, the children taking great care as they hung their stockings on the mantle over the fireplace in parlor. Scarlett had watched in silence as the children and Rhett sang Christmas carols and drank hot cocoa. "Mother, would you like some?" Bonnie had chirped merrily.

"No thank you, darling." Had been the reply.

"But Mother, its Christmas. You should drink some." Bonnie prodded.

"No thank you, I already have my own drink, and I'm not nearly so thirsty as to drink this and hot cocoa." Scarlett replied mechanically.

Wade and Ella were silently watching, and then as soon as Bonnie had given up, they all joined together in their joyful celebration, as Scarlett watched with an almost wistful expression. "She's only thinking of Ashley and wishing that it was him here instead of me," Rhett thought for a moment, only a brief flame of annoyance flared, for she was irrelevant. He had Bonnie, she was all that he needed.

And yet as the embers in the fire began to dim, and Bonnie had long since fallen asleep in his arms, he couldn't help but steal a glance at Scarlett who was still seated where she had been all evening. And he wasn't sure, perhaps it was nothing more than a trick of light, but he was almost certain that a single tear was still suspended on her cheek. He glanced back at Wade who was leaning negligently against the mantle, and Ella who was sleepily rubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands.

"Come on, Wade, Ella, it is time to get to bed. Christmas morning will come earlier than we expect." Neither protested as the sleepily rose and trudged up the stairs to the nursery, as Rhett carried Bonnie up and placed her on her bed in his room. She stirred only slightly as she adjusted to the new position. "Daddy," she murmured, as he bent over and brushed a kiss on her smooth forehead. "When will St. Nicholas come?"

"Darling, go to sleep. He will be here in the morning. Just close your eyes and go to sleep, and when you wake it will be Christmas." He softly crooned to her. He tucked the blanket up under her chin before turning and walking out the door. He and Scarlett needed to fill the stockings and place the presents under the tree. It would be an awkward affair, as it was anytime when they were in close vicinity to each other, especially without the children present to distract from the frigid formality that had developed between them.

After checking on Wade and Ella, who were being watched over by Mammy, he headed down stairs to get the task at hand completed. He found Scarlett still silently sitting in the chair that she had been sitting in the entire evening. She looked up with haunted eyes when he entered the room, but then quickly averted her eyes.

"Are you ready to fill the children's stockings?" He asked as the strode to her.

"Of course. There is some candy in the desk, and I'm certain that you have gifts stashed away for them." She replied evenly.

"I asked Mammy to have one of the servants wrap them. They should be bringing them in here at any moment. They know that as soon as the children are in bed that they can carry in the packages."

Scarlett rose slowly from her chair. She walked to her desk and drew several packages from the bottom drawers. "These are their gifts for the stockings. I ordered lockets for Bonnie and for Ella, and a special knife for Wade." She walked over and stuck each gift into the corresponding child's stocking. And then added an apple and an orange for each child along with an assortment of candies and goodies. Having completed the task, she returned to her chair as Rhett took the wrapped gifts from the multiple servants that had been assigned the task of hauling them to the parlor.

Rhett carefully arranged them under the tree, as Scarlett observed quietly. "Aren't you curious about what is in these packages?" He questioned, since the previous Scarlett had never been able to tolerate not having her finger in everyone's pie.

"I suppose that I will see them in the morning, when the children open them." She replied.

"Why don't you go bed. It's getting late." He suggested, for the smudges under her eyes seemed to be growing darker, and it was quite obvious that the time at the store had worn her out.

"I suppose that I will. Goodnight, Rhett. Merry Christmas." She rose slowly and began the task of mounting the grand staircase. And he knew that she still needed help, that she was still weaker and tired more easily than before, but he could not break that barrier that had been erected between them when she fell. And he watched as she made her way up the stairs, until she finally disappeared into the darkness of the hallway that led to her bedroom, before turning and heading for the liquor cabinet to get himself a drink. Being near her always made him crave something to take the edge off of whatever traces of emotion that he still held for her.

When the morning dawned, Rhett awoke to find Bonnie yawning, with sleep tite in her eyes. "Daddy, is it Christmas?"

"Yes, it is, sweetheart." He chuckled at the expression on her face as she threw back the covers and bounced from the bed.

"Daddy, Daddy, hurry. We need to look and see if there is anything in my stocking. Daddy, hurry!" She rushed out the door in her stock white nightgown and raced towards the nursery screeching "Wade, Ella, get up! It's Christmas! Get up!"

As Bonnie flew down the stairs, he heard sounds coming from the nursery that proved that Bonnie's call had indeed been heard and answered. Soon the door to the nursery flew open and both Wade and Ella was hurrying towards the stairs and down in their younger sister's wake.

Before following the children, he knocked on Scarlett's door, but there was no response. It had always been difficult to raise her.

He could hear the children's cries of excitement even before he started down the stairs, and the sound only magnified as he drew closer to the room in question. He was startled to find that Scarlett was sound asleep in her chair with a partially full glass of brandy beside her. She was wearing a green dressing gown that he did not recognize. But he was even more surprised to see that there were more gifts under the tree than had been there when he headed to bed.

She began to stir at the sound of the children's joy. She opened her eyes slowly, and he was startled at the brilliance of the green of her eyes. He was still amazed at the clarity of them. No one had eyes like hers. She turned her head towards the tree and watched as the children began pulling out gifts that had tags with their names on them.

"This one is yours, Bonnie." Ella said graciously, even as Wade handed Ella a gift of her own.

"Bonnie, Wade, Ella. I think it might be nice if you each took a turn at opening gifts, so that your mother and I can see just what St. Nicholas brought you." Rhett grinned.

"I think that Bonnie should go first," Wade generously offered. "She Is the youngest."

Bonnie was more than happy to comply, and quickly ripped at the wrapping of the first package, that looked unfamiliar to Rhett. She shrieked happily as she pulled a beautiful hand painted porcelain doll from its bed of tissue paper. "It looks like me!" She giggled as she held up the doll that was indeed an almost exact replica of the child. "I think she even has my hair!" Bonnie exclaimed. The dolls ebony curls were indeed an exact match to the child's own, as were the blue glass eyes perfectly colored. "I love her so much!" She rummaged in the box and squealed again as she found miniature versions of her own dresses.

Bonnie continued to open the rest of her gifts, but none eclipsed that doll, that had obviously come from Scarlett. It was the gift that the child loved best, more than anything that he had chosen, although she did like the other gifts, she could not take her eyes from Victoria as she had chosen to call her. Even as the others began opening their gifts, she sat quietly mothering her doll, cradling her in her arms and singing softly to her.

Ella's turn was next and she found a similar doll to Bonnie's, although the doll's hair was ginger colored like Ella's and the eyes of the doll were hazel. Again Ella found a complete wardrobe for the doll that matched her own. "Oh, she's beautiful! Oh, momma, Uncle Rhett, how did St. Nicholas know exactly what I wanted?"

Rhett grinned and suggested that perhaps St. Nicholas had talked to himself or her mother, and the child was satisfied with the explanation.

Wade of course did not receive the same gifts as the girls, but he was thrilled at the gifts that Rhett had chosen for him. He grinned and thanked his parents with a wink as he and the girls made their way to the fireplace to examine what had been left in their stockings. Wade was more than pleased with his knife, and both girls immediately asked for someone to help them fasten the new lockets around their necks.

It was Ella who was concerned, however, as turned back to her parents. "Where are your presents? It is your turn, isn't it? But there isn't much left under the tree."

Rhett chuckled, "Neither your mother nor I hung up a stocking. Perhaps we were worried about getting nothing but coal in them."

"Wade, can you hand me that box?" Scarlett asked of her son, ignoring Rhett's barbed words. "Here, Rhett this gift is for you." Wade handed him the box, and he was quite pleased to find that Scarlett had given him a new gold pocket watch with a miniature of the three children, carefully placed across from its face. "Thank you, Scarlett. I wasn't expecting anything."

Scarlett smiled wickedly, "That means that Uncle Rhett didn't get me anything." And yet despite the coolness of her voice, he could see that glimmer of hurt in her eyes.

"That's all right, momma." Ella told her. "I made something for you." And she pulled out a package from underneath the tree, that showed signs of a small child's efforts at wrapping. Scarlett's hand trembled slightly as she opened it. Inside was a framed drawing of the five of them. "Thank you, Ella." Scarlett told her sincerely and Rhett felt all the more a heel. The other children followed in suit handing both Rhett and Scarlett, gifts made by their own hands.

Bonnie carelessly threw her arms around her mother's neck, as he mother returned the embrace stiffly, "I love you, mother!"

"I love you too, precious." She replied, before dropping a kiss on her daughter's cheek. "Merry Christmas, Bonnie." He could see the tears forming in her eyes, and so he rushed the children out of the room. "Hurry, children. Breakfast is waiting. There are caramel buns and sausages and cinnamon rolls and grits and bacon and eggs and tarts. There is so much food, you won't be hungry for days." He glanced back quickly, still unable to help her, knowing that she was crying. And yet, he didn't do anything to help her. He merely followed the children and sat down to breakfast and continued to treat her as he would a stranger he met on the street. He focused his eyes on Bonnie who already had jam smeared across her face. She was the only thing making this a happy Christmas.


	40. A Very Merry Christmas Indeed

_Author's Note: It's crazy for me to think that I have been working on this story for a year and a half. I never thought that any story would take me that long, and yet I am no where near done on this. There is lots and lots more to come. Here is a story that I believe recounts what would likely have been the Butler's happiest Christmas together. This is mainly fluff, but I do believe that it can fit within the canon without changing things. So I hope that you all have a very, merry Christmas and a happy new year._

He smiled across the table at her while she worked to keep Ella's messy little baby fingers from catching her dress or her hair and soiling it. Her gaudy emerald ring glinted in the candlelight, and he couldn't help but smile at the outrageous size of the stone that he had given her. Aunt PittyPat was prattling on about something that he was pretending to be interested in, but his eyes and his mind were constantly reverting back to the woman he would soon marry. He gave polite, flattering answers to Pitty's inquiries, but he was ready to escape from the need to do so. He was ready for his life with Scarlett to begin.

During a lull in the conversation, Rhett spoke up "What are the plans for tomorrow morning?"

Scarlett smiled at him and responded "Well, if the children have been good, then you should be here to open presents. "

Wade was beaming at the first mention of gifts. He had been counting the days until Christmas for the entire month of December. "Uncle Rhett, do you suppose that I will get presents? I have tried so to be good. I ate all of my food like mother asked, even the lima beans and broccoli."

"I would imagine that you have been quite good. I doubt that you will be disappointed." Rhett assured the boy.

Dessert was passed around, and then they all retired to the parlor. "Shall we sing carols?" Rhett asked hopefully. This was the first Christmas that he had been with a family, a real family that would soon be his, since his childhood, and he was enjoying every moment.

Scarlett agreed reluctantly, requiring that he take the wiggling Ella if she were to play the piano. He agreed and the proceeded to place Ella on that she perched upon his shoulders, where she clapped her little hands together happily. Scarlett sat demurely at the piano, adjusting her skirts before raising the heavy lid and resting her fingers on the ivory keys. "What would you like to hear?" She asked.

Rhett smiled, "Why don't we sing 'Joy to the World'."

Scarlett began slowly trying to warm up her stiff fingers, "I'm sorry, It has been some time since I played."

Rhett nodded encouragingly, "You are doing fine."

She finally began slowly playing the melody, and her soprano voice began ringing out, "Joy to the World! The Lord is come!" Rhett immediately joined in, as did Wade and Pittypat. "Let Earth Receive her king" Ella clapped and cooed as she listened to the sounds of the carol ringing in the air.

The carol was followed Hark the Herald Angels Sing and then followed by several other songs which if Scarlett did not sing on key she seemed swept away with the spirit of the holidays and sang with unusual gusto. Eventually Rhett handed a sleepy Ella to her mother before sitting at the piano himself. He began a heavy and unusual melody that sounded discordant. "I heard this song one Christmas when I was up North before the war. I was at a Christmas pageant in New York City, I can't even tell what drew me towards it. But I think you might like it." And then he began with vigor in his colorful baritone, "We three kings of Orient Are, bearing gifts we traverse afar…" As he concluded the song everyone in the house burst into applause except for Ella who had fallen asleep in her mother's arms.

When everyone had settled down, Scarlett told an unreceptive Wade that it was bedtime. His protests did not last long, for with little more than a chilling look from his mother did he stomp up the stairs to his bedroom. Scarlett followed behind with Ella, who was limp in her mother's arms.

By the time Scarlett returned, Pittypat had already made her excuses and it was only Rhett waiting in the empty parlor. "Is there anything that I can help you with?" He asked congenially.

"Yes. I have to wrap gifts and fill stockings and there is so much to be done on Christmas eve once the children are in bed." She ventured back into the hall to pull gifts from the hall closet. Rhett took each gift and carefully balanced it all in his arms. "I need to get the paper as well and the ribbons and the shears."

As he made his way to deposit the gifts on the dining room table, he could hear Scarlett rummaging around looking for the rest of the things need to complete the task. She finally arrived, looking a little worse for the wear, her arms laden with tissue and ribbons. He reached out quickly and grabbed several spools of ribbon before they tumbled to the ground. He suppressed an outright laugh, but the telling snicker was obvious.

"Don't you laugh, Rhett. This is your first Christmas around children that I know of. You are for a rude awakening in the morning." She carefully began placing a gift for Wade on the paper she had spread across the end of the table. She carefully measured the paper against the package before using the elaborately decorated scissors that PittyPat saw fit to keep. Then she took the small bowl in which she had combined flour and water into a thick paste and began daubing it onto the paper. Her brow was furrowed as she worked on the package, trying to make it just so. It was almost as if the wrapping of the gift was a reflection of her, just as much as her clothing was. Then she began wrapping the gift with yards of gaudy ribbon. Christmas suited her.

But as she wrapped the next gift something went awry. The paper was too short, and then once the paper was adjusted, she somehow managed to tip the bowl off on herself. Her bodice was coated in sticky flour paste and Rhett could not help but laughing at the sight of her. Bits of paper stuck to her front, and she seemed annoyed at him. When his laughter did not stop, she flung some of the goopy mixture at him, and it hit square in his face. He frowned for a moment before taking out a handkerchief and wiping it away. He rose from the seat he had claimed, as if so offended by it her actions that he would leave. But instead he grabbed the partially spilled bowl and scooped out the contents and wiped it on her. She screamed, before his hand clamped over her mouth, "Do you want to wake Pittypat and Wade?" He breathed next to her ear.

She shook her head, and he took a clean cloth and began wiping away at the mess. He first gently cleaned her face, removing the flour from her cherry lips. He was all too focused on those lips, so he dropped his hand and began dabbing at the front of her dress. She looked up at him, her jade eyes twinkling at him, and then he felt her breathing speed up. She was staring at his lips, and suddenly he couldn't help himself. He bent his head and first he only tasted softly of her mouth which still had remnants of the flour from the paste. But it didn't matter. His hand became pinned between them as she pressed herself to him, responding with longing and a desire that he was sure that she didn't understand. And with every moment he seemed to be falling deeper and deeper into that kiss, until finally he mustered all of his strength and broke away, breathless. She sagged against him, as if his kiss had weakened her knees. She looked as if she were about to swoon. Given a moment though, she looked at him with puzzled, passion filled eyes. "Why did you pull away?"

"Because if I hadn't done it now, I might not have stopped. You did plan on waiting until our wedding night, didn't you? Because if you would rather…" Not that he would take advantage of her, no matter how much the thought tempted him. If she gave in she would never recover from the guilt, and when he took her on their wedding nights, he wanted no image of wagging fingers marring that experience.

"Oh, you skunk. I think that it is high time that you leave. Why if I wasn't a lady, what I wouldn't say to you!" She huffed indignantly.

He loved her most when she looked like this, her lips slightly swollen, her eyes flashing with a myriad of emotions, namely anger. "You weren't the one that stopped the kiss. If you would rather I can correct that mistake." He grinned at her. He certainly wouldn't mind another kiss, but he had to stay in control. She needed him to be in control, for she certainly was not.

"You need to leave!" She exclaimed, stomping out into the hall and grabbing his coat and tossing it at him. "I'm better off alone!" She then proceeded to toss his hat at him, which he caught easily.

He smiled at her fury and then called back as he went through the front door, "I'll see you in the morning sweetheart." He laughed as he mounted his carriage and called to the horse. He then made his way to the hotel, wholly looking forward the morning. Life with Scarlett would never be dull. The future seemed to spread out before him full of possibility and expectation. Perhaps life would be better than he had imagined.

The air was chill, and occasional flurries fell to the soggy ground, only to melt away before another could join it. Real snow did not fall here instead the roads turned into thick red clay glue. The sky was a dreary gray, but that did not prevent him from smiling as he mounted the steps with an arm full of gifts for his family. This year he was welcome, well as long as Scarlett didn't hold the events of the previous evening against him. He had been the gentleman who did not take advantage of his fiancé, which in the moment she had seemed quite willing to be compromised. But no, he had taken the high road. And now the festive wreath on the door was meant for him as well. After all he was simply visiting his future wife and her children, his children on Christmas morning. What could be more benign than that?

At the sound of his knocking, the door was flung open by an obviously impatient Wade. "Uncle Rhett! You have presents! Are they for me? Can I have them? I thought you would never get here. Mother, says we mustn't open gifts until you arrived."

Rhett chuckled at the boy's excitement. This certainly was an improvement over last year's Yule. "I'm happy to see you as well, Wade. Merry Christmas!"

"Did you see? St. Nicholas was here last night! The stockings are full, and there are presents under the tree!" Wade chirped excitedly.

Rhett shook his head, "Did he indeed? Well, then you must show me!"

Wade quickly led him into the house and directed him to the parlor where Scarlett sat in a stylish black dress trying to restrain Ella from making a mess of the presents that Scarlett had spent hours wrapping. Ella was fascinated by the ribbons and was pulling at all of them in turn.

As soon as Rhett took a seat opposite from Scarlett, Wade began handing out the gifts. There were several packages hidden in the branches of the tree, and Wade carefully hunted for each of them. Finally he was confident that he had found all of them and given them to the right person. "Mother, may I please open mine first?" He asked.

Scarlett shook her head. "I think that Ella should open hers first, but she might need help." Wade moved next to Ella who was at Scarlett's feet and began helping his baby sister with the gifts. She seemed most interested in the ribbons and paid little attention to the actual gifts.

"Perhaps I should have just given her the wrapping, nothing else seems to interest her," as she removed a bit of tissue paper from the one year olds mouth.

Rhett chuckled softly, "I here that is the case with many children."

Finally Ella's gifts were opened and lay in a pile beside Scarlett, while Ella toddled about the room playing with a piece of ribbon. Wade began to tear into his own. He was a cautious child, even at five. He had seen too much during the war to not have been affected. He carefully unwrapped each gift so that the paper might be reused. But that cautiousness did not mean that he was uninterested in his gifts. Rhett had bought him a toy sword, which was only topped by the cork gun given by his mother who immediately lamented that purchase. "What was I thinking?"

Rhett grinned, merely watching until Wade's cork hit him in the eye. "I think you and I should go outside for a lesson on how to shoot a gun." He told the boy, who had already begun to sniffle, worried that his wonderful gift would be taken from him.

"Wait!" Scarlett exclaimed. "We haven't finished opening the gifts yet."

Rhett nodded and took the toy from the boy, "let me hold it a bit for safe keeping," he told him with one eye already beginning to swell.

Scarlett received a sachet from Aunt Pittypat, and a polished rock from Wade. But when she opened the gift from Rhett, she gasped in joyous surprise. For nestled on a bed of white velvet was a delicate set of emerald earbobs. "Oh, Rhett they are darling. Oh, I simply adore them." And without any prompting from anyone she immediately fastened them on to her ears and tossed her head so that they clicked merrily.

Pittypat was in the corner fanning herself which annoyed Scarlett, "he is my betrothed Auntie."

"But you aren't married yet, and oh, what will people say?" She fretted.

"They shall say nothing, because until we are married, they need not know about them. They would only know if you tell them," Scarlett reminded.

They finished opening the gifts and stocking, and then they moved into the dining room where the table was spread with an assortment of sweet breads and breakfast meats and eggs. Rhett contentedly ate, feeling for the first time in years as if he was a part of a family. He felt that these children were already his own, and he welcomed it when a sleepy Ella held up her arms to him to be picked up. He did so and she snuggled against him as he finished his breakfast. Soon Ella was asleep, her ginger curls fanned out on his shoulder. "Let me take her from you." Scarlett demanded.

"No, she is fine. Just leave her with me for now." Rhett returned.

Scarlett waved her hand, "fine, do whatever suits you." And she began to walk off, but Rhett rose gracefully from the chair, so gracefully that Ella's sleep was not stirred and grabbed her hand. "Merry Christmas, my pet." He offered as he leaned over and kissed her softly, his lips barely making contact with hers. "Merry Christmas, indeed."


	41. Encountering Mrs Kennedy

_Author's Note: Wow, I apologize for the slacking in updating this story, and if you must know, personally this is my favorite of my works in progress. And yet it is over five months since I updated. And then when I decided to work on it, I discovered this section nearly done. But I'm trying to break through this haze that seems to have enveloped our fandom, there is little posting, little reviewing. And I'm not blaming anyone, I know that I haven't been as faithful about reviewing as I should have been, and I apologize for that. I wish that I knew how I could help us all wake from this state that we are in, but the very least that I can do is to post and review and do my part. This is a wonderful fandom, even in our down moments. I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and I really hope that I will be able to update something else today as well. My wireless internet is currently down at work and if I want to be online I have to go in the office and unplug the internet from the bosses computer and update and then plug it back in, and I'm sure you all can see the problems with that. Enjoy, I will be back online just as soon as I possibly can._

He pulled himself together, preparing himself to face her knowing that he had once again lost his chance to have her as his own. He should have tried harder, perhaps he hadn't allowed himself to believe just how tenuous her situation really was. But he had dressed to impress her, a ring for her finger in pocket. He had made himself look like a dandy to show that the days of the jail were behind him. And it was all for naught. She was Mrs. Frank Kennedy now. The name caused the bile to rise in his throat. What a horrible thought. It was sickening to think of Frank Kennedy taking her, a sick thought of her belly swelling with his child. Any child growing inside Scarlett should be Rhett's own.

As soon as he stepped into the store he prepared himself to face her, with that same nonchalant air that he always possessed. He could see her standing at the back counter with her face screwed up with the effort of whatever she was doing. She was scratching furiously with a pen, and his heart clenched as he noticed how she had clamped her tongue between her teeth. It was quite a thought to realize how much she had obviously given up to save her home. But a least it looked like her new husband had found the money to clothe her in something better than she had been wearing, aside from a dress made of her mother's curtains, made to dupe him.

The cold draft from the door closing seemed to alert her to his presence, and she seemed startled when she looked up to see him standing there. He had to wonder whether if for a moment she was pondering what life might have been life if she had married him instead of old Frank. He had to smile at her as he raked his eyes over her petite frame.

"My dear Mrs. Kennedy," he said, walking toward her. "My very dear Mrs. Kennedy!" and he broke into a loud merry laugh. Did she realize that it was hollow and forced. Did she know how deeply it wounded him that he had lost her?

She was startled by his presence. She visibly stiffened her spine and gave him a cold stare. "What are you doing here?"

"I called on Miss Pittypat and learned of your marriage and so I hastened here to congratulate you."

Her face turned crimson as she retorted sharply, "I don't see how you have the gall to face me!"

"On the contrary! How have you the gall to face me?" After all she had been the one to come to him to offer her body in exchange for cold hard cash. But he also needed to hold the upper hand, and it would be lost if she could see any of the regret or his desire for her.

"Oh, you are the most-" She bristled.

"Shall we let the bugles sing truce?" he smiled down at her, which made her smile as well. It was a tight, uncomfortable smile, but a smile none the less. He desired to show her that she need not feel shame or condemnation for either of their actions. He wanted to be able to spend a few happy moments with her.

"What a pity they didn't hang you!" She purred silkily.

"Others share your feeling, I fear. Come, Scarlett, relax. You look like you'd swallowed a ramrod and it isn't becoming. Surely, you've had time to recover from my-er-my little joke." It had been no joke. He didn't understand why he was bating her so, but she had seemed to have lost her fight. Even hidden under all the clothing that she wore, he would easily see that she was still much too thin for health. He wanted to see her as she had been- brimming with life and vitality, instead of this little waif who stood before him. He needed to see the light and fire in her eyes. The sparkle that made her so singularly her, was missing, and her eyes were dead and flat.

"Joke? Ha! I'll never get over it!"

"Oh, yes, you will. You are just putting on this indignant front because you think it's proper and respectable. May I sit down?" Not that he cared if she gave her permission. He wanted to be near her, prove that his inability to help her had not wounded her more deeply. He tried to forget about the ring that was carefully hidden in his pants pocket or the neatly folded check in his breast pouch.

"No." She said as he sank into a chair beside her and grinned.

"I hear you couldn't even wait two weeks for me," he said with a mock sigh. "How fickle is woman!" she made no reply so he continued.

"Tell me, Scarlett, just between friends-between very old and very intimate friends-wouldn't it have been wiser to wait until I got out of jail? Or are the charms of wedlock with old Frank Kennedy more alluring than illicit relations with me?" He could immediately see that his question angered her, but he hoped that it was because he was right. Even if he couldn't have her, he would rather that she wished that she was with him. And yet at the same time, he didn't want her to suffer too terribly. It was quite the paradox, because he didn't want her to be happy without him, and yet he didn't want her to be completely miserable.

"Don't be absurd."

His eyebrow raised at her reply. He couldn't resist asking, "And would you mind satisfying my curiosity on one point which has bothered me for some time? Did you have no womanly repugnance, no delicate shrinking from marrying not just one man but two for whom you had no love or even affection? Or have I been misinformed about the delicacy of our Southern womanhood?" But he had known just how desperate she was, and if for a moment he said that he was unaware, then he was fooling himself. She had offered to be his mistress, and he knew just how serious the situation was for her to resort to that.

"Rhett!"

He smiled, mocking her with his insolent grin. "I have my answer. I always felt that women had a hardness and endurance unknown to men, despite the pretty idea taught me in childhood that women are frail, tender, sensitive creatures." And yet there was now something about her that seemed very frail and fragile indeed. But it was as if she were made of steel, in the way she held herself. She was such an odd contradiction in everything. She was indeed much stronger than any man that he knew. The end of the war had toughened her, made her stronger and more resilient it seemed. "But after all, according to the Continental code of etiquette, it's very bad form for husband and wife to love each other. Very bad taste, indeed. I always felt that the Europeans had the right idea in that matter. Marry for convenience and love for pleasure. A sensible system, don't you think? You are closer to the old country than I thought." He couldn't resist smiling at the thought of being the one to love her for pleasure, because oh what pleasure it would be if he could tap into that well of passion that had been what had drawn him to her from the beginning. He imagined for a moment what it would be like if the American South's values were more in line with the continent. Oh the things he would teach her. She deserved something of pleasure being married to unattractive Frank.

"How you do run on," she said coolly. But it left him wondering if she had ever really considered the possibilities that existed between them, if moral constraints were lessened. He suppressed a chuckle at what Mammy's thoughts would be if she was privy to the dialgoue running through his mind. Just as his Mammy had done many times over the course of his early years, Mammy would have taken a switch to his hide. So he was momentarily jarred when she broke through his thinking with her question of "How did you ever get out of jail?"

"Oh, that!" he answered, making an airy gesture as if he had not spent countless hours and sheafs of paper to contact every person he would think of to secure his freedom. He down played all of the effort that it had taken him. He couldn't let her think that she mattered as much to him as she did. "Not much trouble. They let me out this morning. I employed a delicate system of blackmail on a friend in Washington who is quite high in the councils of the Federal government. A splendid fellow-one of the staunch Union patriots from whom I used to buy muskets and hoop skirts for the Confederacy. When my distressing predicament was brought to his attention in the right way, he hastened to use his influence, and so I was released. Influence is everything, and guilt or innocence merely an academic question." He smiled at the thought of the right way being such as it was. How ironic to call black mail the right way to any positive end. Of course the threat that if he was hanged then he had a friend who had all of the information needed to sink the man's career... That was always a splendid motivator.

"I'll take oath you weren't innocent." She asked with a glint in her eyes that said that she knew that he wasn't.

He grinned at her, letting her know that her instincts were not failing her. "No, now that I am free of the toils, I'll frankly admit that I'm as guilty as Cain. I did kill the nigger. He was uppity to a lady, and what else could a Southern gentleman do?" He grinned inwardly at the old adage that confession was good for the soul. "And while I'm confessing, I must admit that I shot a Yankee cavalryman after some words in a barroom. I was not charged with that peccadillo, so perhaps some other poor devil has been hanged for it, long since." He told it without remorse. Life was kill or be killed, and he had no intention of being anything less than the victor. "And, as I seem to be making a clean breast of it, I must tell you, in strictest confidence" he then whispered loudly with a mocking hand cupped to his mouth, "that means, don't tell Miss Pittypat!", he chuckled "that I did have the money, safe in a bank in Liverpool."

"The money?" She seemed momentarily confused. And he smiled as he watched her as the words seemed to roll around inside her head. He knew she would be sick with envy as soon as she realized just how much she had missed out. But it was her own impatience. Surely she could have waited a little longer than she did before marrying Frank. She should have known that he would have come through for her. It irritated him to no end that she hadn't remembered the words the he had softly spoken in her ears in the jail. If only she would have remembered then perhaps life might be quite different for them both.


	42. Awakening

_Author's Note: Sorry for the delay in posting. It has been a busy summer. Sorry for such a dark chapter. Trust me I am fine, but I do get parts of Rhett that I hope most others don't even come close to understanding. I am VERY excited because I get to finally hang out with Corn in t minus 8 days. So finally an update to Scalawag and hopefully it isn't the only thing that gets updated. Sorry I have been such a slacker. Thanks for sticking with me!_

He had seen Dr. Meade's carriage outside of the Wilke's home, and in his heart he knew what it meant. That knowledge was accompanied by a tight knot in the pit of his stomach, an uneasiness and an ache that could not be ignored. He had known that she was pregnant. There was no other explanation for that sweet glow emanating from her, that peaceful hopeful happiness. And he had known what it meant. He had slowly awakened from the deepest throes of his grief to see her smiling, knowing that soon she would follow the one that he had once lived for, and he had found himself in a world that he had no desire to be in, but there was no means of escape.

He remembered little of the last few months. The days and weeks had blurred into a long amalgam of grief and guilt, all submerged in so much alcohol that there was no sense to the order of the days and no means of telling time. And yet as much as he tried to avoid his wife, the moments when he had seen her since the death of their child were burned into his memory. Her image burned through the haze of the alcohol, her face white and pinched, and yet so similar to the child that had been so unrightly taken from him. And worse than the accusations that she had once shouted at him through his closed bedroom door as he still clutched that small white hand within his own, her kindness now pierced him more deeply. Her accusations had been true, but seeing her made him only relive the mistakes a thousand times over. He couldn't face his wife anymore.

And without her constant presence, he was able to wean himself from the bottle, which as long as she was present had been the only thing making it possible for him to not go insane in her presence. But without her at home, he could once again breathe. Even though he could not shake the ever present grief, it did not suffocate him as the guilt did when looking at his wife. Seeing Scarlett his mind would occasionally wander and he would imagine a future and a happiness that would never come. All hope for the future had already been lost. And he was thankful that she had left for a while. He needed her to leave so that he would emerge from his alcohol induced oblivion.

She had fled with the children, her children. As much as they had always seemed to be his children, the mere fact that the one child who shared his blood was gone, seemed draw a line in the sand, proclaiming that he was childless. It was now, in the home that had once been their home, the home that they had all too briefly been happy in that he had awakened. He needed to escape, flee with his life, for if he continued this sodden existence, he wasn't sure that his life would last much longer. And although he was not such a coward as to take his own life, there seemed to be a semblance of peace in the thought that he would follow his dear sweet girl. And yet, though he had once assured Scarlett that there was no such hell, he now lived in hell, and he was certain that he would never escape such a place of darkness, a place so void of any chance of hope. He would not join his child in eternity, he was certain of that.

It was in the moments that he had debated over these issues that he knew that he must leave. If he packed his bags and left just as Scarlett returned, or better yet, if he left before she could come home, if he never had to face those cat like, green eyes again, then he could run and try to find something within himself too cling to, a reason to fight and live. But regardless of when she came home, he had to leave. And even as he considered it, he knew that eventually he would return to her, but he needed time to heal, time away from the memories and the constant images that reminded him of what he had lost. He remembered that sickening feeling when he knew that he had lost Scarlett for good, after she had fallen, nearly dying in the process. He had thought that there could be no more pain than that, and yet he had been so wrong, so terribly, horrifically wrong. It did not diminish the grief that he still felt over the things that had transpired in the summer of 1871, but this new grief, this loss of the future was worse. At least even through the deepest darkness when he was certain that Scarlett would die, he had the glimmering light of the child that they shared. Now there was nothing, and he couldn't imagine trying to replace her. He couldn't conceive of an end to this pain.

It was then that a soft knock came at the door. "Captain Butler," Pork called. "The Wilkes done sent you a message. Miss Melanie is asking for Miss Scarlett." Of course it would be Pork, none of the other servants seemed able to even tolerate him, and he couldn't blame them for that either. He couldn't stand himself.

Rhett flung open the door and took the missive, written in a hand so obviously shaken the words were nearly unintelligible. He understood the grief that he could read between the lines of the missive. But the message was clear. Melanie was dying. He had known that she would likely not make it, but it seemed that she was going to leave them even earlier than he had imagined. He thought Scarlett would have time for a rest before facing more loss. She had lost too much already, and this time there would be no Melanie to hold her hand. A bitter thought rose that Ashley could comfort her, but he knew that Ashley would be useless, and Scarlett would be sadly disappointed. The child that she had so wanted was killing her, even though he imagined that the child had already been lost. And Melanie was calling for Scarlett. The end was at hand.

There was now no time for delay. The partially packed trunks were left open, their contents spewing out, as he threw his coat on and rushed down the stairs. One of the servants must have anticipated this reckless rush, and his horse was already there waiting for him outside the door. He leapt onto the creature, and rode as if the very demons of hell were on his tail. Time was of the utmost importance. He had very little time to get to the telegraph office and get the message sent if there was any chance of Scarlett catching the last train back from Marietta yet this evening. Thankfully trains ran regularly between the two cities, and the chances of her being able to make it back in time were great.

As the horse galloped, and he moved over the beast, the wind rushing in his face made him feel very alive for the first time in recent memory. His hair was blown back from his face. And the urgency of his mission spurred him on to reckless and unjustified speeds as the horse's hooves beat against the ground. And the feeling of his heart pounding in his chest made him think once again of a heart that would never beat again. He couldn't deal with the loss of such a great lady as Melanie Wilkes when the pain of his own loss was still so fresh in his heart and his mind. He would never be the same man that he had once been. Grief had transformed him.

And yet as he rode, he felt the thousand eyes watching him from the sidewalks, and yards, from the verandahs and window panes. He could feel their thoughts, he knew that he had been branded by her death. The mark of death was unmistakable upon him. And even without the black band on his arm, the grief was impossible not to see. He would be a man in mourning for the rest of his life. He was a father who had lost a child. He would always be her father, and she would always have a place in his heart.

He wished that memories of her could make him smile, that he could remember the numbered days of her life with a fondness, but the wound was too fresh. The mere thought of her smile made him want to scream at the pain rising in his chest. He knew that no matter who he was with, he was terrible company. He couldn't stand the mention of her, and yet the thought of her not being mentioned seemed too obvious, almost as though people were trying to wipe away her existence. The few pictures that he had of her could not capture what made her so uniquely her. He was left with cold imitations, longing for his little girl to wrap her arms around his neck, and whisper sweetly how she loved her daddy, her best sweetheart. He felt like a fool, clinging to a few meager possessions that that once been hers. But how could be not cling to her favorite doll that Scarlett had commissioned for her for her fourth birthday with ringlets of Bonnie's own curls. He could not part with it. The doll still had the faintest traces of her scent clinging to it.

He still had not moved Bonnie's bed from his room, because to move it was like admitting that she was truly gone, and he was not yet ready to face such an absolute heartbreak. The day would come when he would be able to face it, at least he thought that he might eventually get to that point, but it was so far removed from the moment, that it might as well be 100 years in the future. He could not see past the hollow burning ache in his chest.

He clambered down from the horse and went inside the telegraph office. The message should be concise and simple. So he dictated the message to the clerk, "Mrs. Wilkes ill. Come home immediately." Yes, that had the right tone of urgency. He sent the message to Scarlett and paid for the bill. He knew that he had some time to waste, and he wasn't ready to return home. He was certain that she would rush home, because he knew that despite her many faults, and there were a hell of a lot of them, that she was very loyal to Melanie. She would be home on the last train. He checked the schedule one last time, although he already knew exactly when it should arrive, and he left to prepare himself for her return.

As he rode away, he remembered with a heavy heart the last time that he had retrieved her from the train station. All of the children had been with them, and although she had been recovering from the accident, there had been a tension between them. But he could still see her with her youngest child's arms around her neck, as a feather dangled out of the ebony curls. The memory pierced his heart, even when he didn't think that his heart could be any more wounded than it already was. He thought that his heart was numb to all. He knew that he would have to get a tight reign on his emotions before he picked Scarlett up from the station. His years of playing poker and in training in keeping his face an impassive mask would be tried tonight. As much as he wished to drown himself in that dulling cool amber liquid, he needed a clear head to make it through tonight. For tonight would be the last night.

And he turned the horse toward Belle's to begin his journey out of the darkness. Belle had been there for him like no one else, and she deserved to be told what he was doing. He would tell her that he was leaving, and then he would fetch Scarlett and then leave her at the Wilke's so that he could pack some more and say his farewells to the house that his love had built. He needed to walk though the house one last time, without her eyes boring into him and questioning his every movement, and then when Melanie had departed he would tell her. He needed to wound her, because he couldn't bear for her to try and follow him. He had to do it now, because even in his grief, the pull to Scarlett was unmistakable, and if he didn't he would be drawn in as to a whirlpool and he would surely drown.


	43. The Encounter with MrsKennedy continues

_Author's Note: This is a continuation of my second to last update. So sorry for making you wait for this for so long. I am a very bad girl! I am trying to get back into updating, although I make no promises. But hooray... this chapter marks my passage into the elite club of those authors with stories over the 100K mark. I never thought when I wrote that first little one shot to begin this story (since I have reorganized chapters since then), that this would become a long story, let alone my complete answer to Rhett Butler's People. As usual this chapter is a heavy mixture of the original and my take on what Rhett might have been thinking and feeling. As this is a chapter which covers an exact scene from the book it is more heavily dosed with lines from the book. I had to, since they need to say and do the same things. But I hope that you appreciate the addition of these thoughts! I want to thank all of you who have been there for me in the writing of this, and for all of the many friends that I have made along the way. I am so thankful for what fanfiction has brought into my life. I can't say enough for what this community has done for me. So this chapter is dedicated to all of you whose stories I love, to all of you whose stories who have crept or flew past the 100 K mark, and especially to my dear friends who agreed to a visit from "Flat Stanley". Thank you to all of my readers and reviewers. I love this community! My life is so much better because of all of you!_

He grinned as he watched the wheels turning in that money driven brain of hers. "Yes, the money the Yankees were so curious about. Scarlett, it wasn't altogether meanness that kept me from giving you the money you wanted." He wished for nothing more than to be able to have been there for her when she so obviously needed her. And yet he had failed. And he wanted her to understand, at least to a degree that it had been outside of his control. "If I'd drawn a draft they could have traced it somehow and I doubt if you'd have gotten a cent. My only hope lay in doing nothing." She could never know just how much he had worked to try and free himself to get her the money to save Tara. "I knew the money was pretty safe, for if worst came to worst, if they had located it and tried to take it away from me, I would have named every Yankee patriot who sold me bullets and machinery during the war. Then there would have been a stink, for some of them are high up in Washington now. In fact, it was my threat to unbosom my conscience about them that got me out of jail. I-"

"Do you mean you-you actually have the Confederate gold?" Her face was growing pale at the thought of what she had so narrowly missed out on. And he reveled in her discomfort, if only she had been the slightest bit patient.

He smiled as she grew flustered at the thought. "Not all of it. Good Heavens, no!" Of course there was a great deal of money that he had, far more than she could even fathom. Not that the money would do him any good until the Yankees saw fit to release him. "There must be fifty or more ex- blockaders who have plenty salted away in Nassau and England and Canada. We will be pretty unpopular with the Confederates who weren't as slick as we were. I have got close to half a million." He grinned roguishly, driving this point home. "Just think, Scarlett, a half-million dollars, if you'd only restrained your fiery nature and not rushed into wedlock again!"

Her face grew so pale at his admission that he thought that she might once again faint as she had at the jail. He could nearly see the dollar signs flashing in her eyes. But he could tell that she hadn't heard anything that he had said past the words a half-million dollars. He could tell that she wanted his money, desperately, as a starving person longs for food. And there was something contained in his hunger that went beyond normal greed. It was almost as if the money would make her safe. And he could see as anger and hatred flashed across her face, anger and hatred directed at him for having what she so wanted and needed. Her mind was struggling to find away to fight back against him, of that he had no doubt. One thing that he knew for certain was that this would not keep Scarlett down.

And just as he had supposed, she tried to strike a vicious blow against him, "I suppose you think it's honest to keep the Confederate money. Well, it isn't. It's plain out and out stealing and you know it. I wouldn't have that on my conscience." If she wasn't so serious it would be laughable. In her right mind she would never consider sharing such a great bounty.

"My! How sour the grapes are today!" he exclaimed, screwing up his face. "And just whom am I stealing from?" He leaned in towards her, measuring her response for his declarations. But she did not speak; her brow furrowed as she seemed to be mulling over the situation.

"Half the money is honestly mine," he added in some lame attempt to justify his actions as well as brag on his own foresight. He proceeded to tell her that is was "honestly made with the aid of honest Union patriots who were willing to sell out the Union behind its back-for one-hundred-per-cent profit on their goods." IT had taken great foresight on his part to be able to have accrued as much money as he had, having started with so little. "Part I made out of my little investment in cotton at the beginning of the war, the cotton I bought cheap and sold for a dollar a pound when the British mills were crying for it. Part I got from food speculation." Of course that was one of the reasons why he was so ill received in Atlanta, but if he hadn't done it,then someone else would have. It would be highest form of idiocy to hand over the money. No one in their right mind would do such a stupid thing.

"Why should I let the Yankees have the fruits of my labor?" He grinned arrogantly, proud of the fact that he was the one control of his own destiny. "But the rest did belong to the Confederacy. It came from Confederate cotton which I managed to run through the blockade and sell in Liverpool at sky-high prices." He had risked his life, and the life of his crews. He had put everything on the line to get the cotton past the blockade. "The cotton was given me in good faith to buy leather and rifles and machinery with. And it was taken by me in good faith to buy the same. My orders were to leave the gold in English banks, under my own name, in order that my credit would be good." And then he had been smart enough to know when to cut his losses. There had been a few captains that had thought that they could still get around the blockade. They had continued to a point where it nearly always meant death or the complete loss of the cargo. There had come a point the regardless of whether a captain chose to sail in the new inlet or the old inlet, the sheer numbers of the Yankee forces was enough to over power and thwart the plans of even the most skilled captains. And for the few that managed to still make it into the port in Wilmington it was still difficult to disperse the goods."You remember when the blockade tightened, I couldn't get a boat out of any Confederate port or into one, so there the money stayed in England. What should I have done? Drawn out all that gold from English banks, like a simpleton, and tried to run it into Wilmington? And let the Yankees capture it? Was it my fault that the blockade got too tight? Was it my fault that our Cause failed? The money belonged to the Confederacy. Well, there is no Confederacy now-though you'd never know it, to hear some people talk. Whom shall I give the money to? The Yankee government? I should so hate for people to think me a thief."

To maintain an air of nonchalance he pulled his favorite leather case from his pocket. The case had been there for him more than anyone else in his life. He gently stroked the aged leather case before extracting a cigar from it. He did so enjoy his fine Cuban cigars, although he had paid dearly for these. Luxuries such as these were still in short supply in the impoverished Atlanta. He lifted the cigar to his nose and smelled it approvingly. He was watching her with anxiously, hanging on her words. And yet he knew that she was blind to him and to his emotions, at worst she would identify them as what they were but assume that he was only pretending.

And then she began again with her ridiculous suggestions, "You might," she sniffed arrogantly, "distribute it to those who are in need. The Confederacy is gone but there are plenty of Confederates and their families who are starving."

He threw back his bead and laughed rudely. She was completely ridiculous. "You are never so charming or so absurd as when you are airing some hypocrisy like that." His eyes twinkled with amusement, thoroughly charmed by such an absurdity. "Always tell the truth, Scarlett. You can't lie. The Irish are the poorest liars in the world. Come now, be frank." He wondered for a second at his own choice of wording, after all, it was her husband's name. "You never gave a damn about the late lamented Confederacy and you care less about the starving Confederates. You'd scream in protest if I even suggested giving away all the money unless I started off by giving you the lion's share." Her mouth was twisting into a grimace, and he knew she would try to deny such a claim.

"I don't want your money," she began.

But he gave her no chance to continue, "Oh, don't you! Your palm is itching to beat the band this minute. If I showed you a quarter, you'd leap on it." And yet there was something pathetic and disgusting in how desperate she was, not that he blamed her. She had been through hell. Living through something like that was bound to leave its marks.

And yet pity would get him no where. Not that there was particularly anywhere to get with her at the moment. He had already missed his chance, at least for now. And so she lashed out at him, "If you have come here to insult me and laugh at my poverty, I will wish you good day." She struggled to stand, but the heavy ledger was firmly wedged on her lap, and her struggle was certainly not the impressive rise that no doubt she had envisioned. He leapt to his feet, firmly pushing her back into her feet. There was no point in her struggling so, and it was all to amusing.

He couldn't help laughing at her when she was like this, like a tiny kitten spitting and arching it back against a German Shepherd. There had always been something so feline about her. "When will you ever get over losing your temper when you hear the truth? You never mind speaking the truth about other people, so why should you mind hearing it about yourself? I'm not insulting you. I think acquisitiveness is a very fine quality."

He grinned inwardly, so not to mock her further by letting her know that he had used a word outside of her vocabulary. She was at least mollified it seemed, for she was certain that he was praising her, although she wasn't quite certain exactly what for. "I didn't come to gloat over your poverty but to wish you long life and happiness in your marriage." The ring that he carried in his pocket denied such a claim. He was powerless to fight against the fact that in her haste she had married another man that she did not love. And he was hurt, and he struck out against her. "By the way, what did sister Sue think of your larceny?"

"My what?" And yet again she was unsure of the word he had used. She was such a naïve child combined with a scheming, grasping witch. And yet he knew that it was no more her fault that she was that way that he could control the fact that he had lost his chance with her.

He clarified in simpler terms, "Your stealing Frank from under her nose."

"I did not-" she sputtered angrily, trying to deny something that was undeniable.

"Well, we won't quibble about the word." He agreed, baring his teeth at her, he prodded more, "What did she say?"

Her eyes held a truth that her lips did not speak, "She said nothing."

His eyes danced with amusement and desire. There was something about her that drew him in, like no one else he had ever met. How was it that she had such a hold over him? So he fought against that tie and tormented her, "How unselfish of her. Now, let's hear about your poverty. Surely I have the right to know, after your little trip out to the jail not long ago. Hasn't Frank as much money as you hoped?" He both enjoyed seeing her squirm at the mention of her husband and was disgusted at the thought of Frank possessing Scarlett as his wife. Scarlett's body, as well as her mind and heart, should belong to no one else.

There was a battle waging inside of her head. Across her face and in her eyes flashed every emotion she felt and every thought that she had. And he could tell that part of her wanted him to go to hell, although her mind would be saying Halifax. But more than that she wanted him to stay. She didn't want him to leave, and he still had some power. He had the money that she wanted. His hand was not yet lost. She needed something that she could see in him that she could find no where else. For it was obvious to her that he knew what she had done and why she had done it and he did not seem to think the less of her for it. He knew that she could ignore the unpleasantly blunt aspect of his questions because she knew that he really did care about her and what happened to her. And he could see that she felt completely and utterly alone. That look that had been in her eyes at the jail was still there. He had assumed that once she had a few decent meals under her belt that some of that fear and desperation might be removed, but he had been wrong. She need him. He was one person to whom she could tell the truth. The relief was clear, and he was certain that it had been too long since she had been able to tell anyone the truth about herself and her motives. Nothing that she could say would shock him, or at least not so that she would ever know that he had been surprised. There was something safe for her to be in his presence.

There was an eagerness in his eyes as he queried, "Didn't you get the money for the taxes? Don't tell me the wolf is still at the door of Tara." Surely she wouldn't still be so frightened if things had been taken care of. Had Frank somehow misstated his assets. Was he unable to help her as she needed? Had she sold herself to a man that she did not and could not love and was repulsed by without even attaining her goal of saving her family and home.

She looked up to meet his dark eyes and smiled sweetly at him. It was one of those beautiful, rarely bestowed smiles, one that he couldn't imagine that she had shared much in recent months. There was nothing to smile about. He had to wonder if she was catching on to how much he cared?

A light dawned in her eyes, something in her seemed to change, as if suddenly realized that he would make sure that she was taken care of. She had uncovered what it was that had brought him here to this place in the first place. He was being too transparent, but perhaps at times she needed to see that he did truly care. She needed to know that someone out there was there to catch her if she was falling. Perhaps it was obvious that he had hurried to her as soon as he was released, without the slightest appearance of hurry, to lend her the money if she still needed it. Of course being there to protect her didn't mean that she wouldn't have to pay for it in someway. He needed to keep her at some distance. And it was for this reason that he would torment and insult her and deny that such was his intent. He hoped that he had not allowed her to see too much, for he did not want for her to understand. He didn't want her to understand that he really cared about her, more than he was willing to admit- more than he had cared about anyone since he had been kicked out of the bosom of his family.

Her next words brought him relief. He carefully held back a sigh of relief as she said that, "no, the wolf isn't at the door any longer. I-I got the money."

There was guilt written across her face. She had sold herself as surely to Frank as she offered to sell herself to him. Somehow he imagined that the new bridegroom had gotten more than he had bargained for in the deal. Scarlett would be a handful for any man, let alone Frank. "But not without a struggle, I'll warrant. Did you manage to restrain yourself until you got the wedding ring on your finger?"

He could imagine it perfectly, and from the smile on her face, he wasn't far from the truth of the matter. The added food had filled her cheeks in enough so that when she smiled so she dimpled prettily. He seated himself again, sprawling his long legs comfortably.

He wanted to know more, and he was not about to shy away from"Well, tell me about your poverty. Did Frank, the brute, mislead you about his prospects? He should be soundly thrashed for taking advantage of a helpless female. Come, Scarlett, tell me everything. You should have no secrets from me. Surely, I know the worst about you."

And yet he knew that by pushing the right buttons that he could rally her to fight. And the battle was not yet over for her. Of course to be truthful, he was not being altruistic. He enjoyed seeing the color rise in her cheeks. She was so much more beautiful when incited to anger and rage. After all he was only completely attracted to her when she was finished with her little scene with Wilkes in the library on the day that the war began. "Oh, Rhett, you're the worst-well, I don't know what! No, he didn't exactly fool me but-" And then it was as if a long pent up dam had burst. This torrent had been building for months, and with the added frustrations that came with a ring and a new name it had been demolished. "Rhett, if Frank would just collect the money people owe him, I wouldn't be worried about anything. But, Rhett, fifty people owe him and he won't press them. He's so thin skinned. He says a gentleman can't do that to another gentleman. And it may be months and may be never before we get the money." And he could see that terror in her eyes. How was it that the damned Frank Kennedy couldn't? His wife was still living like she was a day away from starvation. It would take time for her to heal, and perhaps she never would. But no he was certain that once she was well fed and removed from living the day to grind, completely spoiled and petted that she would be the Scarlett that he remembered. Oh perhaps she had grown up some, but still she would still be Scarlett.

He tried to hold himself in check, keeping his gambler's mask in place, but the answers that she gave him mattered very much."Well, what of it? Haven't you enough to eat on until he does collect?"

"Yes, but-well, as a matter of fact, I could use a little money right now. Perhaps-" There was still something she wanted. And if it would make her feel more safely he would gladly pay.

"What for? More taxes?" He couldn't help but wonder if the 300 hundred dollars had only been the tip of the iceberg.

She bristled at his comment, "Is that any of your business?"

He grinned. He knew that if he made his offer in a business-like way he could make it seem nearly respectable. And yet he would still have the excuse to check up on how things were going. Loaning her money for something would be the perfect guise for maintaining contact now that she was newly married. "Yes, because you are getting ready to touch me for a loan. Oh, I know all the approaches. And I'll lend it to you-without, my dear Mrs. Kennedy, that charming collateral you offered me a short while ago. Unless, of course, you insist." He smiled as his mind briefly imagined what it would be like to hold her in his arms.

"You are the coarsest-" She didn't respond to kindly to his mention of her previous offer.

"Not at all. I merely wanted to set your mind at ease. I knew you'd be worried about that point." She never needed to know that he cared too much about her to collect on that deal. "Not much worried but a little. And I'm willing to lend you the money. But I do want to know how you are going to spend it. I have that right, I believe. If it's to buy you pretty frocks or a carriage, take it with my blessing. But if it's to buy a new pair of breeches for Ashley Wilkes, I fear I must decline to lend it." He wanted for her to buy pretty dresses and a carriage. He wanted for her to reclaim a little of the life that the war had taken from her. She was at her best dressed like a living doll.

Of course he knew that to mention Ashley would fuel a flame. But oddly there was something different in the way that she said his name, in away that he didn't even think that she realized. "Ashley Wilkes has never taken a cent from me! I couldn't make him take a cent if he were starving! You don't understand him, how honorable, how proud he is! Of course, you can't understand him, being what you are-"

How he hated Ashley Wilkes! "Don't let's begin calling names. I could call you a few that would match any you could think of for me. You forget that I have been keeping up with you through Miss Pittypat, and the dear soul tells all she knows to any sympathetic listener. I know that Ashley has been at Tara ever since he came home from Rock Island. I know that you have even put up with having his wife around, which must have been a strain on you." Ashley wasn't a man. No man could live off of a girl like that wimp had done.

"Ashley is-"

He couldn't stand for her to defend him."Oh, yes, Ashley is too sublime for my earthy comprehension." He continued raging against her delusions of how wonderful that sniveling creep was, finally ending with, "Among men, there's a very unpleasant name for men who permit women to support them."

"How dare you say such things?" She spat angrily at him, her cheeks high with color, her eyes snapping with life. "He's been working like a field hand!"

"And worth his weight in gold, I dare say. What a hand he must be with the manure and-" He couldn't help but goad her.

"He's—" she tried to interrupt...

He didn't want to listen. He couldn't sit and listen to her defend a man that could do nothing to take care of his family, who he imagined could not move on past the world that preceded the war. He would have felt sorry for him, if he hadn't hated him so intensely. "Oh, yes, I know. Let's grant that he does the best he can but I don't imagine he's much help. You'll never make a farm hand out of a Wilkes-or anything else that's useful. The breed is purely ornamental." He does not posses what it took to survive in this new world. He lacked the strength which Scarlett had in spades. And Rhett wished for a way to protect Scarlett from herself and to make her forget her crush. And of course there was the issue of her new husband to deal with.


End file.
